For Lily's Sake
by mlocatis
Summary: AU James Potter sacrificed himself for his wife and child, protecting baby Harry and sparing Lily from Voldemort, though Harry still bears his scar. By Harry's third year, Severus Snape has reinserted himself into Lily's life and successfully proposed marriage. Harry finds himself trying to balance his mother's happiness with his new stepfather's vicious hatred of all things Harry
1. Chapter 1

Harry glared at his potion. He would not look up. He would not give the man the satisfaction.

Whatever foolish part of him had believed that things would somehow be better after the wedding had gone and died a painful death already, and now there was only bitter resentment left. Yes, his professor and new stepfather still treated him with all the loathing and prejudice that he had previously.

Except, of course, when his mum was in the room. Just like Harry. When Lily was watching them, she saw the two of them bonding. Not quite warm and friendly, but cordial and cautious. Harry even managed the occasional smile for his hated Potions professor, just to put his mother's heart at ease. He didn't need her worrying or second-guessing her choice to marry the man.

Because for all his other faults, Severus Snape did make Lily Potter (now Potter-Snape) happy. And Harry wanted his mother to be happy more than anything in the world.

So he put on a marvelous show with the man anytime they breakfasted together, or had a 'family day', or were in the general vicinity of each other under Lily's observation.

Snape was still awful in class, and very conspicuous about it. He had a pass, after all. He was a spy. He had to maintain his cover, and his marriage to Lily was a complete secret excepting a select few. So Harry could not possibly complain to his mother of ill treatment (not that he would, because it would cause tension for all of them, and general misery).

His Uncle Remus was also a non-starter. Since his godfather had been offered the position after two abnormally disastrous years in a row—first Quirrellmort, the inhuman abomination who'd tried to murder Harry, and then Lockhart, the pompous, incompetent fraud who'd tried to Obliviate Harry—Remus had managed to avoid Snape's ire by staying out of the man's way and, in all instances where such avoidance was impossible, maintaining a cool civility. Harry knew just how poorly his father and friends had treated Snape in school, courtesy of Lily, who had, on more than one occasion, threatened to beat the Potter genes right out of Harry if he so much as hinted at such despicable tendencies.

And so Harry understood Remus' delicate position, and the reasons he was predisposed to see only the best in Snape as a way of compensating for his complicity in James Potter's pranks and bullying. Too, Harry knew that even _if_ Remus believed Harry's accusations, the man would only go straight to Lily and urge her to cut all ties to the man. And Harry could not have that.

So Harry would suffer in silence. It was only two classes a week.

But lately Snape had been particularly vicious. It was as if he were testing the limits of Harry's commitment to his silence. The professor had taken to deriding and insulting his stepson at every turn, almost sabotaging his class work himself. And Harry was close to a breaking point.

His potion was nearing a critical stage. It was one of the more complex brews they'd tackled in his third year, a Solution of Clarity, and so far his was coming along well. He'd taken to studying extra for this class just to mitigate all the ill effects of having to put up with Snape, so he knew the instructions fairly well, as well as the precautionary tips and correctional methods highlighted in his text.

Taking a calming breath, Harry began adding his pine needles, one at a time, watching with bated breath as his pale green solution began to darken gradually. A few more, he told himself, and it would be the correct shade, a forest green. One more... and there it was. He let out a heavy breath and picked up his stirrer, knowing he could waste no time. Letting it settle now would ruin it.

He began working the slow clockwise figure eights that the text recommended, taking care that his strokes were even and smooth. He would get this. He would turn in a perfect assignment today, and there would be nothing that Snape could do.

"Potter."

Harry winced. Setting his jaw and continuing his stirring, he called, "Yes, Professor?"

"Come see me at my desk."

Harry felt his blood start to thrum angrily in his veins. No. He could not do this, not now. Through gritted teeth, he bit out, "I need to tend my potion, Professor-"

"Longbottom will watch it for you."

Harry chanced a glance up, only to find Snape sneering at him triumphantly from behind a stack of papers. His eyes flickered over to Neville, who was only barely managing his own cauldron. He already looked flustered and nervous.

"Maybe Hermione-"

"Miss Granger will tend to her own cauldron, not attempt to salvage yours, Potter. Up here. Now."

Harry sighed. He knew there was no point in arguing. He would just lose points or earn more detentions. He extracted his stirring rod, set it down carefully, and made his way to the front of the room, feeling like a prisoner reporting for sentencing.

"You needed something, sir?" Harry ground out, keeping his eyes locked on the corner of the man's desk so he couldn't be accused of glaring.

"Eyes up here, Potter."

Harry sighed and dragged his gaze up to the hateful man. And waited.

Snape seemed to be taking his sweet time. He rifled through the stack of papers, flipping them over fastidiously so that they remained neat and perfectly aligned.

Harry lost patience quickly. "Did you need something, or can I get back to my potion? Sir?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your tone," Snape announced, a vindictive little smile playing about his lips. "Patience is a virtue, and it would behoove you to exhibit some. Especially with me."

Harry forced himself to draw another calming breath. You can't win this fight, he reminded himself. No sense in trying. Take the path of least resistance. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Inadequate," Snape murmured. "Ah, here it is." He withdrew the essay Harry had turned in the previous week. "Like this, as it is blatantly full of plagiarism."

Harry could feel his nails digging into his palms. "I wrote that myself, sir. I did the research myself. If you have evidence that I didn't, though, maybe we could discuss it after class-"

"We will discuss it now," Snape cut him off coolly. "Hard as it may be for you to comprehend, my time is valuable, and I do have obligations apart from chastising you for academic dishonesty. So, would you care to explain why your abysmal understanding of potions has suddenly and miraculously improved by leaps and bounds?"

Harry stared back at his professor as fiercely as he possibly could. "I decided to make an effort, sir, since my grades have been so bad recently. I spent a lot of time on that assignment and went through a lot of drafts. I know that if I want a decent mark, I'll have to put in a lot more effort for the rest of the term, since my practicals have been so bad."

"Hm." Snape sounded unconvinced. "I will look into the matter and let you know my verdict. You may return to your station."

Harry was fuming. As if it wasn't enough to have the man purposefully tripping him up in class, now he had to accuse him of cheating! In front of the whole class!

Neville caught Harry's eye as he returned to his bench. The boy looked positively mournful. "I tried to watch it, Harry, really, I did, but..."

Harry peered into his cauldron. What he found was burbling black sludge, completely unsalvageable. He let loose a low growl of frustration, fighting the urge to tip the whole thing over and dump it to the ground.

Hermione and Ron cast him furtive sympathetic glances, but they didn't dare try to speak. They'd learned over the last two weeks that trying to comfort Harry would only lead to a tongue-lashing from Snape and points from Gryffindor. They could commiserate after class.

Harry forced a few more deep breaths. If he had to deal with this for much longer, he was going to have to take up meditation. Hopefully Snape would eventually mellow out and go back to his run-of-the-mill nastiness. That, at least, Harry could brush off.

At last, Harry had calmed enough to draw his wand and mutter a banishing spell over the contents of his cauldron. There was no use in even trying to turn it in. That sludge was absolutely worthless, likely toxic. Another zero, he thought.

Hermione swept him into a hug after class, once they'd cleared the hallway outside the potions classroom.

"Oh, he's just awful," she murmured into Harry's shoulder. "I saw how careful you were being today, Harry. I even tried to help Neville, but I was afraid to be too obvious about it... and to call your work plagiarism! The nerve! He has nothing to base that on, and I know that Dumbledore will see reason. Snape can't do anything about it on his own, you know, it's in the school charter. Serious charges like that have to be investigated by the Headmaster and the student's Head of House..."

"S'alright, Hermione," Harry reassured her. "I know it'll be fine. He's just being a git about it. It was just an excuse to get me away from my potion so I'd mess it up."

"But detention too, for failing the assignment," Ron groaned. "That's just evil. Harry, you have to say something to your mum. She's been duped-"

"No," Harry said firmly, pulling away from Hermione so that he could level a glare at Ron. "She's not. Mum's too smart for that. And... and he's good to her. I see it. It's like he's a different person with her. He makes her happy, and that's all that matters. I... I don't want it to be like it was when I was little, before they got over their differences. I told you that. She was miserable. If this is what I have to put up with... well, it's a small price."

"But you shouldn't have to put up with it!" Hermione cried. "He's the adult, and he's acting like a-a-"

"Total and complete jerk-off arsehole," Ron stated matter-of-factly. "Really, mate, you can't go through life letting the man whack you around like a Bludger. You'll go barmy."

Harry sighed. "He'll calm down. I mean, it has to be exhausting, being this hateful. Look, let's just forget about it all, okay? I don't really want to talk about it."

"We have a free period now," Ron pointed out. "Want to go flying, blow off some steam?"

Harry shook his head. "Can't. I have too much homework, and if I'm going to be in detention all night tonight..." He let loose a heavy sigh and turned to Hermione, who was looking at him intently, her eyes filled with concern. "Library?"

She nodded, her lips pursing into a little frown. "Maybe you could talk to Dumbledore," she suggested. "He could speak with Snape without involving your mother at all-"

"No," Harry said, with an air of finality. "Dumbledore... he wouldn't understand. He thinks this whole situation with Snape is as much my fault as Snape's, and I'm not about to get into that argument with him again. Okay?"

Hermione sighed. "Okay, but if you just explained to Professor Dumbledore-"

"I said no," Harry snapped, a little too forcefully.

Hermione took a step back, startled. "All right," she agreed quietly. "Do you have your books?"

Harry nodded. "Ron? You going to join us?"

"Nah," Ron mumbled. "You guys have fun. I'm, er... I'm going to go hang out in the Tower for a bit."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you're already behind in every class. And I'm not helping you cram for your exams this year, Ronald! If you can't be responsible-"

"Fine," Ron hissed, "I'll go suffer in the library alongside you too. Happy?"

"Yes," Hermione sniffed primly, before her face split into a triumphant grin.

Harry just shook his head.

XXXXX

"What's that?"

Harry glanced up to where Ron was pointing and saw a tiny paper boat drifting along, rocking in some air current.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, poking her head up from her Transfiguration text. "What a lovely charm! I wonder who..."

The rest of her question died as the boat drifted down to Harry, settling into the crook between the pages of his own open book. The delicate little thing immediately unfolded, revealing a short note.

 _Fawn,_

 _It's a lovely afternoon and I know you don't have another class after Sev's. Maybe you'd like to join me for a walk? I'll be reading down by the lake in my favorite spot._

 _Love,_

 _Mum_

Harry smoothed a hand lovingly over the note. He desperately wanted to rush out there right then and sob to her all about how awful his afternoon had been. He knew that she would tuck him against her shoulder and run a gentle hand over his head, and murmur to him that it would be all right.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't do that to her. She loved Snape, and complaining about him would just ruin the already-delicate relationship they had. There were enough old wounds between them; she didn't need to deal with any new wounds.

Still, he couldn't bear to completely ignore the invitation, especially since she was so rarely free to spend such time with him. When she wasn't working at the Ministry, she was often absorbed in her own research during the school year. It would be stupid to let this opportunity pass him by.

"On my way, mum," he murmured, knowing that the parchment was clever enough to report back his answer. He watched with a soft smile as the ink of the message bled together to the center, reforming into a sketch of a forest with a doe in the clearing. The doe dipped her head at Harry before bounding off through the trees.

Hermione, who had been admiring the message over his shoulder, murmured in appreciation. "Your mother is so gifted."

Harry smiled at Hermione fondly, knowing how well his friend got on with his mum. It hadn't surprised him in the least; they were both extremely clever, extremely talented Muggleborn witches. Sometimes Harry was certain that his mum looked on her more as a little sister than his friend.

"Yeah. She's brilliant. Anyway, I better go before she thinks that Peeves carried me off."

Ron snorted. "You drag me to the library, then you ditch me here after an hour? Some friend-"

Hermione elbowed Ron in the ribs. "Quit whining. You've just been sitting there doodling snitches anyway, not actually working."

"Don't leave me with her," Ron pleaded jokingly. "She'll make me work."

Harry shrugged. "Sorry, mum's a tyrant. Wouldn't take no for an answer. Good luck!"

"Shh," Madam Pince hissed at him.

Harry smiled sheepishly at her before scooping his books into his bag and dashing off.

Harry made it down to the lake in record time, mostly because his agitation with Snape manifested as an excess of energy. He barely heard the taunts Malfoy yelled after him when they crossed paths in the second floor corridor, and was gone before Filch, puffing after him, could tell him off for not walking.

Harry immediately spied his mother's familiar bright red hair, made all the more obvious in the abundant September sunshine. She spotted him too and waved exuberantly. He forced a cheery smile onto his face as he made his way across the grounds toward her.

"I think you're going to have to teach Hermione some of your tricks with your messages," Harry huffed when he finally reached her. "She was pretty blown away by the boat."

His mother laughed, the sound sparkling and uplifting, as she pulled her son into a close hug. "I don't know about that. Those spells are jealously guarded secrets... hmm, but I suppose I could make an exception." Lily kissed his temple before letting him go to look him over. "How were classes today?"

Harry fought the sour look that started to overtake his face. "Fine," he lied. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Binns set a new record for putting students to sleep, I think."

Lily's eyes narrowed. "Harry," she scolded him. "What happened?"

Harry sighed internally. He was going to have to tell her something. She was too perceptive, and he knew that she wasn't about to let this drop. Well, he thought, he would keep it as close to actual events as possible, and just do some creative editing. Maybe he could vent a little of his frustration without actually throwing Snape off the broom.

"I messed up real bad in potions today."

Lily's green eyes turned sympathetic. "Let's take a walk, hm? And you can tell me all about it."

Harry found himself trailing beside his mother as they set off in no direction in particular. "It was my fault," he lied, choosing to pronounce "all Snape's" as "my". This was likely the best tactic, the only way he could tell the events so that his mother would believe him. He would still viciously blame Snape for everything with his inflections, but he would hide behind his words, and she would think all his anger was directed toward himself.

And then she would give him some advice and promise to nudge "Sev" in the right direction, and that would be that.

"I wasn't paying attention in the last stage, and I didn't stir enough... I ended up with swamp goop that I didn't even bother to turn in."

Lily sighed in disappointment. "Another zero, huh?"

Harry blushed and bit his tongue to keep himself from retorting. He knew she wasn't happy with his current potions grade. And he was doing everything in his power to fix that, especially since that conversation so often diverged into the "I respect Sev so much" territory. And Harry didn't think he could stand to hear how great Snape was and how much Harry could learn from him if he would just make an effort, not today.

"Yeah. I was trying so hard to get it perfect and it just got away from me in the last few minutes there." Harry huffed out the breath he'd been holding in. He felt like he could cry, and he knew his mother could sense those tears coming. He didn't want her to see that they were tears of anger, so he decided to spin out this lie just a little bit more. "P-Severus just looked so disappointed in me. I hate it. I hate it so much."

Lily hummed softly in sympathy. "Harry," she began slowly, "in class, does Sev..."

She seemed to be searching for words to put her thoughts delicately.

Harry panicked a little. Was his resentment so obvious? He wasn't ready for this. He'd been so damned careful. He couldn't lie through his teeth to his mother; she was way too smart for that to work.

"Look, he has to keep up a front for spying," Harry cut her off. "I know. Sometimes it's hard to remember that it's all an act, but he's been much better about it lately, you know? Like, when no one's looking, he'll wink at me to remind me, and sometimes he'll hold me after class for a minute or two to talk. So you don't have to worry about that. I'm not taking it so hard anymore."

Maybe he'd pushed it a little with that last bit, he thought. Especially claiming something so patently absurd, like Snape winking at him. Though he sometimes winked at Lily, didn't he? So maybe it wasn't quite ridiculous on its face...

Lily smiled, looking pleased at hearing that. "Oh, good. I asked him to try to reassure you a little bit. I'm so glad... but that's not what I wanted to ask, Harry. I want to know, are you nervous around Sev? It's completely understandable if you are, you know. I know how he can be. He's no teddy bear, and I hear he can be a right terror in class."

Harry swallowed thickly. God, his mother actually thought Snape would wink at him and voluntarily speak with him kindly. Well, better than the alternative, he reminded himself.

"Yeah," he agreed readily, glad for the excuse. Maybe he wouldn't be grounded for failing another potions assignment after all. Maybe his mum would excuse him. "Yeah, I think that's part of it."

"And I can imagine you want to impress him," Lily continued.

Harry fought a grin at those words. Yeah, that was true, he conceded, but not for the reasons his mum assumed. He wanted to be so good that Snape would have no room to criticize him. He just wanted to shut the man up for once. "I really do," he agreed softly.

"Hmm," Lily mused. "I think I see a simple solution to all of this. I'm sure Sev would love to give you private lessons-"

"No!" Harry cried, maybe a little too loudly.

Lily started, and stared at her son with wide green eyes. "Harry, it wouldn't be so bad-"

"I don't want special treatment," Harry protested, knowing that this was the best argument for almost anything. He touched his scar. "I already get enough because of this." That, and a subtle reference to his dead father and the man's incredible sacrifice... just enough guilt that he would likely get his way.

Lily pursed her lips. "Sev would be happy to take you on," she argued, but Harry could tell by her tone that he'd already convinced her to drop it. "You are his stepson now, after all."

"He's got enough on his plate," Harry insisted. "And I have to get over my fears, Mum, you know that. I'll do better, I promise."

She sighed unhappily. "As long as you pass, I suppose. But at least think about it. It would be such a good chance for you to get to know each other better, too..."

"I'll think about it," Harry promised, though more realistically he would be having nightmares about private lessons with his new stepfather.

They walked for a little longer, passing by Hagrid's hut and trailing along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Finally, they arrived back at the front steps leading into the Entrance Hall.

"This is where I leave you," his mother told him. "You'd best go get dinner, before everything's gone."

Harry smiled wearily. He knew he probably only had an hour or so anyway before his detention. "Are you coming back this weekend?" He inquired hopefully.

"You bet." Lily pecked him on the cheek,, then admonished him with false sternness, "Make sure you hit the books tonight. Especially your potions text."

"I will, Mum."

"Give my best to Ron and Hermione."

"I always do."

His mother waved to him, then headed toward the Apparition boundary beyond the front gates. She would go back to her job as an Unspeakable at the Ministry, and return to their empty little flat in London at night. Snape would likely visit her later on in the evening, popping through the Floo nonchalantly to pay her a visit. And that was where Harry stopped speculating, because thinking too much further on things tended to make his skin crawl.

Snape would likely taunt him with that prospect tonight, he thought angrily, casually mentioning how easy it was for him to see Lily while Harry was confined to the castle.

Harry pushed those thoughts away. No use in dwelling on things. He went to find Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table.

XXXXX

Severus leaned back in his chair, savoring the comfort of the plush leather against his tired body. It had been a long day, and he was ready to get through the stack of essays before him, then head over to see his new wife for a few sweet hours. He took a draft of his wine, his lips curling into a smile as he thought of Lily.

If only Potter's son wasn't part and parcel of this deal. He couldn't stand the child. He knew he had to restrain himself better with the boy, but it was too easy to be cruel, to pour out every ounce of vindictiveness he harbored for the late James Potter onto his new stepson.

He'd seen the boy's anger about to erupt earlier that day. He'd half expected things to devolve into a shouting match, truth be told. But Potter had somehow controlled himself. And a good thing too, Severus thought. It wasn't as if calling him to his desk had done any irreparable damage to the boy's brew. Potter was hardly better than Longbottom in the discipline, and his day's work was likely completely ruined long before the last twenty minutes of class. At least the boy had been wise enough not to attempt to turn anything in.

And he felt perfectly justified in discussing the boy's essay with him. After all, the quality was vastly improved from the drivel Potter usually turned in. Severus couldn't quite pinpoint how Potter had managed it, because it was consistent with his handwriting and style and he'd yet to come across a similar essay that could be used to prove cheating. But he didn't buy for a second Potter's story of working exceptionally hard on a mundane assignment about stirring techniques. Did the boy take him for a complete fool?

He would eventually have to ease up on the boy, he knew. Lily would not be happy if her precious son failed his class. That, and he was a little wary of what might happen if the boy complained to anyone, particularly the headmaster. He knew only too well that he was getting just a touch carried away with things. He could hardly justify all of his behavior over the last weeks. Yes, he would have to rein it in a little before Potter could go crying to the Headmaster with any real grievances.

At least he'd restrained himself during Potter's detention that night. He could tell Potter had an attitude problem what with the way the boy had gone slamming cauldrons around. He'd just growled at the boy and taken points rather than goading the boy any further, as he easily could have done.

At least Potter had had the sense to keep his responses short and respectful.

An hour and a half and two glasses of wine later, Severus finished scrawling out his final scathing assessment on Penelope Clearwater's essay on stasis potions. He rose from his chair, stretched his stiff limbs, and strolled merrily over to the floo. After he'd thrown a pinch in and called out the address of their London flat, he poked his head through.

Just as he'd expected, Lily was curled up on their sofa, already in her dressing gown for the night, curled up with a thick volume. She smiled down at him, her eyes crinkling in delight.

"May I step through?" Severus inquired.

Lily pretended to contemplate. "I don't know... it is an awfully late hour for gentleman callers."

"Ah, but what about husbands?" Severus pressed, his lips curving in a gentle smile of their own.

"Well, I suppose husbands are a special case. But you have to make us tea."

Severus pulled himself through into their cozy sitting room, brushing the ashes from himself. "I have to make the tea," he mused, already stepping over to the kitchen. "Sometimes I wonder if you married me just so you could force me to do menial labor..." He filled the kettle with a muttered Aguamenti, and heated it with a tap of his wand, before summoning two mugs-chipped, as Lily liked them-and the tin of tea.

Lily followed him, drawing her robe closed over her midsection. Severus noticed that her feet were bare, a preference from childhood that she'd never given up. He could never quite understand why. "That, and so that you could blatantly favor my son in your classes," Lily teased.

Severus snorted derisively, hoping that the reaction covered the loathing that was clenched in his gut. Why could he not have one peaceful evening with Lily without Potter brat cropping up in their conversations? "He desperately needs that favoritism."

Lily's face grew serious. "He told me what happened in class today."

Severus stiffened at those words. The brat had tattled? Well, he thought, he would bury the boy. After all, one flustered adolescent who was already failing the class, and who had done poorly in the subject for years, could hardly argue that Severus had purposely sabotaged him by calling him up to the front to speak for a few moments. The boy didn't have a leg to stand on. He would come across as petulant and bitter, and Severus could add to that image by casually letting slip how ill-mannered the boy had been during his detention that night.

"Ah. Well, I'm very interested to hear his version of events."

A small frown graced Lily's lips. "He didn't blame it all on his evil Potions Professor, Sev. In fact, he didn't want to talk about it at all. He was pretty embarrassed about the whole debacle."

Severus fought back a smile. Good, so he'd humiliated the little cretin. But whatever the boy had said, it had likely painted him as calloused and uncaring. Best to defend himself on that charge, he thought, with a little creative storytelling. "I'd planned to speak to him after class, but he fled before I had a chance."

Lily's expression predictably softened, and her eyes sparked with gratitude. "Thank you, Sev, for looking out for him."

Guilt twisted in Severus' gut. He ignored it.

"But I doubt it would have made a difference. Like I said, he was quite upset when I saw him this afternoon. He told me he just lost his concentration, and that was all it took for it to all go south." Here Lily paused to tuck a strand of stray hair behind her ear. She glanced up through her lashes at Severus. "He told me he was nervous. And that he was afraid of disappointing you."

Severus forced back another snort. What crock of lies had Potter put together for her? The boy didn't give a shrivelfig for his opinion. No, he was just playing the pity card again, crying to his mummy that his Potions Professor terrified him so badly that he couldn't perform.

"Hmm. He didn't seem very cowed in class today."

Lily flashed him another smile. "Yes, he told me all about how much of an effort you've been making to put him at ease."

Severus strained to hear the sarcasm in her words, but there was none. They sounded completely genuine.

"I know you put on an impressive front for your duties and all… maybe too good of a front. But Harry told me all about how you've been keeping him behind after class and all to make sure he doesn't take any of it to heart."

Severus swallowed thickly, searching for words. Potter lying to excuse his failings, that Severus could understand. But this? By Merlin, the boy had described him as a model stepfather to Lily. What possible motivation did he have for that? Perhaps he thought that it would give him an advantage somehow. If so, the boy had an abysmal sense of strategy.

"I do what I can," Severus hedged.

Lily took up her mug and lifted it to her lips. Severus watched intently as those beautiful, perfect lips pressed to the rip of the mug, gracing the porcelain with their softness. "Mm, adequate," she pronounced, then tilted her head back toward the sitting room. "Shall we?"

Severus settled beside Lily on the couch. He smiled warmly down at her when she nestled against his side.

"I told him that you could take him on for private lessons."

Severus held back a groan, not only at the thought of that imposition—and, Merlin save him, more time with Potter—but because he was sick to death of this topic. He wanted to move on to something much more pleasant, like dying puppies or irreversible nerve damage caused by the Cruciatus curse. But he knew it wouldn't come across favorably if he outright refused.

Besides, if he was stuck tutoring Potter, he could make the boy suffer every bit as much as he did.

"Of course," Severus agreed immediately. "It would be no trouble, and it would hardly do to have my own stepson fail at potions…."

Lily's smile turned sad. "Of course not. I knew you wouldn't turn him down. But Harry refused—rather adamantly, too. He didn't want any special treatment. I should have known, of course…. Heavens, this is the boy who turned down early placement on the Gryffindor team because his classmates wouldn't get the same opportunity."

Severus arched a brow, a little taken aback. He was relieved that the boy did not want to suffer through private lessons, of course, but he couldn't imagine James Potter's son refusing anything to do with Quidditch. "I never heard of this."

Lily laughed softly. "I'd imagine you didn't. Minerva was quite miffed. She happened to see him during flying lessons, you see. The boy caught a classmate's Remembrall in a dead dive. She had him pegged for Seeker."

"As a first year," Severus muttered, shaking his head. He remembered that incident too well. He'd reprimanded Draco rather severely; he'd imagined that Potter had received the same treatment, not been rewarded for flouting the rules. Though it didn't surprise him in the least to find out that he'd been wrong.

"She even brought it up in our disciplinary hearing for the incident," Lily continued, her eyes crinkling fondly as she recounted the memory. "She begged me to try to persuade Harry, but the boy was set. Minerva promised him that she would arrange for special permission from the Headmaster, and that did it for Harry. Stubborn like his mother, I suppose. Then he complained that he only had so many detentions because Minerva was annoyed with him… though I think three with Filch was about right for blatantly disobeying a teacher, not to mention nearly breaking his neck." Lily sighed, and her smile faded. "I couldn't punish him today, Sev," she confessed suddenly. "I told him—I was very clear—that if he got another zero, he was grounded. But when I saw him today, he was so out of sorts, and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I'm a terrible mother."

Severus felt that bundle of guilt twist inside him again. Why in the name of Merlin's wand had the boy not ratted on him? Why had he accepted all the blame for his failure that day if he knew he would be in such trouble for it? Not to protect his Potions Master. Maybe the boy simply realized that the truth would sound too much like he was trying to shirk responsibility. After all, his track record would certainly work against him.

Right now, though, his concern was comforting Lily, not trying to unravel the enigma that was Potter. So he snaked an arm around her and drew her close and whispered, in his gentlest voice, "You are _not_ a terrible mother. Stop speaking such nonsense."

"He needs boundaries," she burst out. "He needs to know that there are lines he can't cross, and that I expect him to scrape out at least an Acceptable in all his subjects. And that's setting the bar low! I know this has been a difficult transition for him, especially having you at school with him, but that still shouldn't be an excuse. And for this to be in your class! He claims he's just intimidated by you, but if this is because he doesn't respect you… if that boy has been lying to me, I swear, he'll never see a blasted broomstick again!"

It would have been so easy in that moment to destroy Potter's life. His mother was already doubting him, and all it would take, really, would be a little nudge to convince her that the boy _didn't_ respect him and was trying to take advantage of him. He had plenty of complaints, after all, and the boy was a mess when it came to potions, his latest essay aside. He could gently lead Lily into seeing the boy for the ungrateful brat he was….

But that was too wrong, too underhanded, even for him. The boy had defended him for some reason, and even told flattering lies about him. To what end Severus had no idea, but the fact of the matter remained. It would not be right to throw the boy to the dogs.

So instead, Severus began placatingly, "I'm certain it wasn't out of disrespect. As you said, the boy was nervous. And I'm sure that's the truth. For some reason, my students shy away from me, even though I know for a fact I have a very warm and sunny disposition."

The small smile returned to Lily's lips at those words. "And you're very patient," she teased him lightly.

"Always. Now, considering that, and the difficulty of adjusting to our situation, I can understand a little stumbling about. So, just this once, I think I'll propose to P-Harry that he come make up the assignment, and I'll suggest that he pay more attention in the future."

"Sev, he won't like the special treatment, I'm telling you—"

"This is not special treatment. In general the staff are permitted to make allowances for certain circumstances. I think emotional upheaval would fall under that category, yes?"

Lily snuggled closer to him. "You make sure you tell him that. And barring that, tell him that I _will_ ground him if he's stupid enough to refuse this opportunity. All right?" She leaned up and planted a light kiss on his lips.

He kissed her back, much more firmly than the bare brush of her lips. He pressed into her, willing her to feel his love for her in his urgency. He drew back and gazed down at her, feeling the steady rhythm of her breaths against his side. "Very well," he murmured. "Now, can we please close all subjects relating to my professional life?"

"Hmm, are you sure you don't want to discuss the essays you were grading tonight?"

"Not on your life." Severus kissed her again, and this time Lily clambered onto his lap. Merlin, it was like they were teenagers again.

The two cups of tea sat on the coffee table, abandoned, for the remainder of the evening.


	2. Chapter 2

"Potter!"

The blasted boy pretended not to hear him. Instead, he quickened his pace and continued down the corridor, his little cronies struggling to keep pace.

"POTTER!" Severus bellowed, this time enough to part the sea of adolescent bodies.

Granger tugged on the boy's arm—wise of her, Severus thought—and drew him to a halt. Potter shot her a murderous glare before turning to face Severus, his expression carefully bland.

Severus stalked over to him, seething, paying no mind to the wide-eyed students who pressed to the walls in attempt to stay out of his warpath.

He'd been trying to hunt the boy down all morning, and Potter had been carefully avoiding him. Not that he blamed the boy. He'd seen the flinty anger in the boy's eyes, and knew only too well how little control Potter had over his temper. His choice to stay away was likely an attempt at self-preservation.

"Having a hard time hearing, Potter?" Severus sneered in challenge. "Perhaps you should pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey."

The boy met his gaze unflinchingly. "Did you need something, sir?"

Severus could hear the barely-contained rage behind those syllables. "Your attitude leaves something to be desired."

Beside Potter, the Granger girl leveled a fierce glare at him, and Weasley looked positively homicidal.

The boy exhaled heavily. Then, through gritted teeth, he bit out, "I apologize, sir. I didn't sleep well."

Severus snorted in disbelief. "I didn't ask for excuses. And I did not run after you for half the morning to be glared at by three ill-tempered adolescents."

"Then why _did_ you stalk after us?" Potter demanded impudently. " _Sir_?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for that tone, Potter," Severus sneered. "And I will see you in my office tonight, 7pm sharp, for detention."

Granger let out a huffy, indignant breath and Weasley mouthed something unflattering. Severus ignored them, choosing instead to stare Potter down. The boy would learn respect if it was the last thing he did.

"Fine," Potter growled. "What did you need, sir?"

"That was all, Potter."

Potter's mouth opened and closed like a fish's. Then, without another word, he turned on heel and stalked off, followed by his two minions.

The Granger girl shot Severus such a nasty look that he was tempted to dock more points.

Severus sighed, then turned away. No, he wouldn't do that. Now that the mindless irritation was fading, he could fully appreciate how poorly he'd handled the whole situation. He'd originally intended to inform Potter that he would be allowed to make up his potion, and that he would expect him at seven that evening. He'd even tried to mentally prepare himself for the boy's attitude. After all, he was likely still prickly about the previous day's fiasco.

But all that had gone out the window the moment he'd been forced to chase after the boy. That Potter would have the gall to purposefully evade him, and to ignore his clear attempts to summon him over… well, it was enough to drive him to distraction.

Well, he thought, he'd accomplished what he'd set out to do. Perhaps it was not ideal that Potter would stew all day thinking that he had a detention for scarcely any reason at all. The boy would likely be a nightmare that evening, even after he learned the real reason for being ordered down to the dungeons. The boy would likely be so upset that he'd brew another batch of black sludge.

Well. That wasn't his concern. All he had to do was tell Lily that he'd tried, and that he couldn't in good conscience give the boy a passing grade for the assignment.

Who was he kidding? Even perfectly calm and content, Potter would barely be able to complete the assignment. The boy deserved to suffer the consequences for his laziness. He wouldn't feel guilty for seeing the boy in trouble with his mother.

Severus turned in the hallway, ignoring the stares he was getting from students. Well, let them talk, he thought. What did he care for what they thought of him?

Severus retreated back to his quarters. He had a preparation period that morning, and no classes until the afternoon. It would be good to spend the time away from the floods of insolent brats.

He hadn't liked the accusation he'd seen in many of their eyes, as if he'd done something truly heinous. What right did they have to judge him? They were just children, after all. Any dispensation of punishments likely looked like a gross miscarriage of justice to them. Never mind that they rarely looked that venomous when he was assigning detentions in class.

Well, what was he to expect? He'd reprimanded Famous Harry Potter, boy hero, in the middle of the halls and seemingly assigned an undeserved attention. Of _course_ there would be righteous indignation on Potter's behalf.

Severus settled down in his study with a stack of essays. He needed to clear his mind and find something to distract him for a little while. His mind was still buzzing over that silly interaction with Potter, replaying it over and over.

He would not admit that he'd been wrong. After all, Potter had been childishly ignoring him. He was entitled to pour out a little of his ire onto the insupportable whelp, wasn't he? Perhaps he'd been a little harsh, but it wasn't as if Potter had been blameless.

Severus forced himself to take a deep breath and clear his mind. He wasn't going to dwell on this. He wasn't going to waste another ounce of energy brooding about Potter.

He was halfway through his stack, and almost out of red ink, when the fireplace behind him flared to life. Severus turned to find Albus' head staring up at him, his expression uncharacteristically grave.

"Severus, would you step through to my office please? There is a matter I would like to discuss."

Severus swallowed thickly. Why was he nervous? There were certainly many things the man might wish to go over. The location and state of the Dark Lord, for example. Or perhaps Potter had done something stupid and was, once again, in need of saving. Then again, maybe Albus had run out of lemon drops, which would explain his somber mood, and in actuality this was simply a routine meeting to go over preparations for N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s. There was no telling; it could be any number of things.

"I'll be right through, Headmaster."

When Severus stepped through the Floo to into the Headmaster's office, he was thrown slightly off balance by the number of students gathered before him. He scarcely recognized the gaggle of children that stood in the corner—two Second Year girls, it seemed, and an older boy. He had no idea what houses they were in.

And then there was Potter, lounging in a chair before the Headmaster's desk, his expression strangely impassive.

Severus eyed the boy critically. So he _had_ complained to Albus. Well, the boy would learn soon enough that Dumbledore wasn't the type to intervene and manage these kinds of situations. He might offer a few words of admonishment for Severus, but there would be no bite behind them. No, until Severus crossed a real line and did something truly reproachable, Dumbledore would leave Potter to fight his own battles.

Albus cleared his throat lightly from behind his desk. "Severus, thank you for coming so quickly. I just had a few concerned students come to me regarding your treatment of Harry this morning. Now, Harry insists that everything is fine, but—"

"If Potter has no complaints, I fail to see why you have called me here," Severus cut the man off, instantly regretting his impulsiveness. Why was he so defensive? He was rarely this on edge, so keyed up that he would forego all sense of decorum and interrupt Albus, of all people.

Albus raised a brow at Severus, a quiet admonishment.

Severus cursed himself again. "My apologies, Headmaster," he murmured swiftly. He cast a hard glance over at the complainants, who cowered back from the intensity of his stare. "If there are questions I can answer, I would be happy to do so."

Albus smiled slightly, an expression Severus knew meant he was forgiven for his imprudence. "Now, young Mr. Prewett, Ms. Mire, and Ms. Tennyson have claimed that you hunted Harry down this morning for the express purpose of harassing him and assigning him a detention when he dared to respond. As I find that version of events rather incomplete, I was hoping you could expound upon what happened."

Severus spared a perplexed glance for the dark-haired boy who was studiously avoiding his gaze. He shook his head softly to himself. He would never understand Potter. The boy was erratic and unpredictable.

"I did seek out Potter this morning," Severus affirmed, "and I did assign him a detention. The reason is between myself and Mr. Potter, and I assure you that it is quite legitimate." Not that the boy knows that, he thought.

Albus swung his gaze back to Potter. "Harry, is this true?"

Severus stared at the boy, daring him to complain.

Harry met Severus' gaze fearlessly. "Yeah. I, uh… I said something pretty unflattering about him this morning, and he heard. I figured I'd high-tail it and get off the hook, but Sn—Professor Snape caught up to me."

Severus couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at the boy. Was Potter thinking to blackmail him or something equally insidious? Because that was the only explanation he could produce for Potter defending him like this, going so far as to invent an elaborate lie. Well, not so elaborate, but certainly extremely believable. In fact, the finesse the boy displayed while lying to the headmaster was unnerving.

"Hmm." Dumbledore sounded unconvinced. "I see. Well…." He turned his attention back to the three students huddled in the corner, most of them quailing back from Severus. "I thank you three for bringing this matter to our attention. I'm certain Professor Snape appreciates the opportunity to set your minds at ease."

Severus fought back a derisive snort. His students seemed to realize that they had just accused him of injustice, and that he did not take kindly to such accusations. He made a small bow to them, though, for the Headmaster's sake. "Yes, I'm glad we've cleared this matter up. Though in the future, you are welcome to bring your concerns directly to me."

The three of them kept their gazes firmly on their shoes. The smallest girl even shook, as if she were desperately trying to keep from bursting into sobs.

"I think you should all get back to class now. But, let us see… twenty points to Hufflepuff and ten points to Ravenclaw for taking initiative and checking on a student's welfare." Albus smiled benignly at them.

But even the points and the Headmaster's kind expression did not seem to ease the students' discomfort. All three of them cast anxious glances back at Severus before scurrying from the room.

Severus made an impatient sound. "Headmaster, if there was nothing else, I do have classes to prepare for."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, surveying Severus with a neutral expression. "I actually called you and Harry here because I received two other complaints about your recent treatment of Harry. It seems that some of your classmates, Harry, believe that you have been singled out for ridicule and sabotage in your potions class—"

Severus wanted to snort at this, but yet again he held himself back.

Potter, however, actually did snort. "Let me guess, Ron and Hermione? That would account for the 'complaints'. Oh, and maybe Neville. Listen, Professor, I know my friends are concerned, but…." He cleared his throat and stole a furtive glance back at Severus. "Look, it's just a little familial discord that's kind of spilled over into the classroom. We're all still adjusting to things. And to be fair, they _are_ my friends, so I can only guess that they painted a pretty one-sided picture."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Potter. "Are you certain? It seems to me that you are being rather magnanimous here, when before you would have jumped at the chance to criticize Severus."

Potter cast his head down, as if in shame. Severus still could not believe how brazen the boy was in lying—and to Albus Dumbledore, no less. Surely the boy knew that he didn't have a prayer.

"I'm trying to be more mature, sir. Like my mum asked. Really, he's not making me say any of this." Potter exhaled heavily. "Look, I'm not proud of it, but I may have been… ah, less than judicious when talking about the Professor with my friends. Honestly, sir, you don't have to worry."

And then, after humiliating himself before the Headmaster, the Potter brat did something truly spectacular.

The boy turned back to Severus, his eyes fierce. "I'm sorry, sir," he said in what sounded like a genuinely contrite voice. "I'm sorry you were dragged in here like this. I'll take more care to be discreet in the future."

The slight narrowing of the boy's eyes was all the hint Severus needed to understand the real message the boy was trying to convey. _In the future, take care that_ you _are more discreet._

Severus pursed his lips sourly, not wavering an inch. It was not his fault if Potter's overly-sensitive adolescent fan club sought to defend him like a pack of loyal puppies. He would scold the boy in public if he felt the need, regardless of their opinions.

"See that you are." There. Let the boy make what he would of _that_.

Anger flared in Potter's eyes for a moment before the boy managed to smother it. He stood, turning away from Severus and back to Dumbledore.

"Well," Dumbledore sighed, clearly not happy but unwilling to press the issue. "If you're certain, Harry, then I will let you get back to class."

"Thank you, Professor."

"My door is always open, Harry, should you feel the need to talk."

Potter mumbled something unintelligible before turning and striding out the door, not sparing so much as a backwards glance for Severus.

"I should be going as well, Albus," Severus began.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and fixed Severus with his piercing blue stare. "Forgive an old man for prying, Severus," the Headmaster said, no hint of apology in his expression, "but I cannot help but wonder why young Harry has been so evasive with me on this topic. It is rather remarkable, wouldn't you agree, that he has both accepted all responsibility for this… misunderstanding… and apologized to you as well? Such an unprecedented show of maturity from such a young boy. Perhaps you could reconsider this troublesome detention—"

"I will do no such thing," Severus snapped. "Forgive me, Albus, but I will not have my authority disparaged, not even by Lily's son. It is within my rights to discipline the boy at my discretion, and that is precisely what I will do. I have not been excessively cruel or gone beyond what is stipulated as acceptable for a teacher in my position in the charter. So I will beg you not to interfere."

Dumbledore looked so saddened and disappointed by those words that Severus had to drop the Headmaster's gaze.

"Of course not, my boy. I wouldn't dream of it."

Severus sighed. "I neglected to mention to Potter that he will be making up an assignment this evening. So no, I am not simply reveling in the delight of watching the boy scrub cauldrons."

"Ah. But you are allowing him to believe that he is being punished for… making an unflattering remark about you. I see." But again, it was all too clear that the Headmaster did not buy one word of Potter's story.

"It will do him no harm, and it might incentivize him to guard his tongue in the future." Severus did not know why he was attempting to keep up this pitiful charade. All he was accomplishing was making an ass of himself in front of Dumbledore.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore offered noncommittally. "Well, I should not keep you any longer. Though if you would permit me one more liberty, I should like to offer a bit of unsolicited advice."

Severus waited patiently, knowing that there was no combination of words in existence that could dissuade Dumbledore from sharing his opinion on the matter.

"It is rare to see an olive branch extended so far… one might say young Harry is nearly beating you over the head with it. Perhaps you could consider accepting it and mending this rift between you, if not for your sake then for Lily's."

Severus ground his teeth together as his hands automatically balled into fists at his sides. "I would beg you not to meddle in my personal affairs, Albus, particularly not my marriage—"

"That was certainly not my intention," Albus interrupted, his blue eyes sharp. "And I will say nothing more on the matter, save this: your personal life may not be my affair, but student-staff relations certainly fall within my purview. And I shall not be pleased, Severus, if I learn that you have abused your position in any way."

Severus' spine straightened at those words. Rarely was Albus so direct, and the fact that he was now made his words all the more heavy. The chastisement hung in the air and rang in Severus' ears for several seconds.

Severus swallowed thickly. "Of course, Headmaster," he murmured, sounding very much like a scolded schoolboy. "I… I will…."

"Good." And with that Albus' good humor was seemingly restored. "I only ask that you think on my words, nothing more. I trust you will act admirably in this."

Severus left, cursing the man mentally for those words. Oh, Dumbledore was as Gryffindor as Salazaar himself at times. He could talk black off a cauldron if he wanted. And as he'd proven time and time again with Severus, he had a true gift for inducing the most horrible guilt and regret with just a few well-chosen words.

Act admirably. Severus had never done that, nor would he ever, and Albus knew it. But now falling short of that seemed like such a mortifying prospect, as did disappointing his mentor.

Well, he had the rest of the day to wrestle that guilt back into its proper place. He would not be in this same torn state when he met Potter that night, that was certain.

Yes, Severus had far too much experience locking away and ignoring his guilt.

XXXXX

"We had to!" Ron protested, slamming his fist down on the table. He was starting to go red in the face, and looked to be just seconds away from leaping up and jabbing Harry in the chest. "For Merlin's sake, Harry, he's your"—a glare from Hermione was enough for Ron to catch himself before blurting out sensitive information. "Well, you know. And he treats you worse than dragon dung! If you won't stand up for yourself, we will!"

"You don't understand," Harry hissed, glowering at Ron and Hermione each in turn. "You can't go complaining about him like that, never again, okay?"

"But Harry—" Hermione began, her voice trembling with emotion.

Harry cut her off, though, his tone cool and resolute. "I appreciate what you did. I love you both, and it means the world to me that you care about me so much. But… listen. I love my mum more than anything. She's all I had for nearly eleven years, you understand? And Dad's death was so hard on her. She was… she just withdrew from everyone, some days even from me." Harry lowered his voice, and kept furtively glancing around the Gryffindor table to make sure there were no eavesdroppers.

This was not the ideal place for this conversation, but Harry didn't feel like dragging them both to some hidden alcove just so they could hash this all out.

So he continued in a near-whisper, with Ron and Hermione leaning in extremely close so that they would not miss a single word from him.

"When I was younger, Mum was in a real bad way. And you can't tell anyone this, especially not Mum, you understand? She's… she's touchy about it." Harry took a moment to breathe, to gather himself. He'd sworn he would never talk about this to anyone, but he just had to now. He had to make them understand that, awful and unbearable as Snape might be, taking it all in stride was a small price to pay for the support the man offered to his mum.

"She stopped eating for a while. They… Remus came by, and he saw how bad it was, and… and she had to be checked into St. Mungo's."

Hermione gasped.

"Yeah. She just couldn't cope with the fact that Dad had sacrificed himself to protect both of us. She was dead set that it should have been her, and that it was somehow all her fault that Voldemort targeted us."

"Survivor's guilt," Hermione murmured. When Ron looked at her questioningly, she explained, "Muggle psychology term."

Ron nodded, though his eyes were still befuddled.

Harry sighed. "They helped her, counseled her through it and all, but even then… it was like she wasn't all there some days. Like a piece of her died when Dad did. And then _he_ showed up, and at first I thought it was the worst thing ever. I barely saw him, you know, and when I did he'd always glare daggers at me. I mean, he was polite enough when Mum was around, but as soon as she left the room I was suddenly a loathsome potions ingredient. Actually, I think he would have preferred to be in the room with some pickled rat brains.

"Anyway, I was all prepared to talk Mum out of seeing him at all, and I was ready to tell her all about how nasty he was to me… but the more he came around, the happier she was. The more _there_ she was. And I could tell he was really good with her. Like, he's a completely different person whenever she's in the same room as him."

"But if he can treat you so awful—," Ron began, but Harry held up a hand before he could finish.

"He's good for her. But they had a bad falling out when they were younger, when he got into some bad stuff. And it took _a lot_ for her to even let him back into her life. I mean, for years she would burn letters from him without even reading them. And then she'd wash her hands afterwards. What they have… it's really delicate. And if she ever caught wind of this, it would be over. She'd choose me over him, and she'd try to hide it, but she'd be miserable again. And I can't live with that."

"Well, if he could just grow up and stop acting like such a git, you wouldn't have to worry about putting up with him," Ron pointed out angrily.

Harry barked a small laugh. "Yeah, _that's_ likely. Even if Mum didn't break it off straight away, I don't think he's capable of growing up and acting like a decent human being. If Mum knew and somehow gave him a second chance—a third chance, really—she'd watch him like a hawk, and he'd screw up and treat me awful at some point. So he'd blow his chance, and then we'd be back to Mum being miserable _and_ feeling bad for letting him into her life just so he could be awful to me. And she'd probably never trust anyone again, because it was a big leap of faith for her to let Snape in. I don't think for a second that Snape'll step up and be a better person, so I'm just going to keep my mouth shut and hope that he eventually gets bored with tormenting me."

"Oh God, Harry," Hermione moaned. "I… I actually think you're right. Snape's already betrayed your mother's trust by acting so terribly. I don't blame you for wanting to protect her, but there has to be something you can do. I mean, can't you issue an ultimatum? Tell him that you'll go to Lily if he doesn't stop being so vicious?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Snape's going to respond really well to _threats_. He's the Head of Slytherin; he's got cunning in spades. All I'll achieve is nudging him into plotting circles around me, and then he'll _really_ humiliate me or get me into big trouble, and I'll just come out looking like a terrible student or a bad son. No thanks. My only real option here is to roll with the punches and hope that he eventually tones it down a bit when he sees I'm not going to fight back."

"If the three of us put our heads together, we might—"

"No, Hermione. Things are bad enough. I don't want to see them get any worse. I'm not cocky enough to think that we can outsmart him."

Ron shook his head slowly to himself in dejection. "Basically, you're going to play dead."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, that's the plan."

"But Dumbledore—"

"If I involve Dumbledore, there's no guarantee he'll believe me. You know how he is when it comes to Snape. And even if he does, there's no way he won't say something to my Mum. And I'm not ready to risk that. I think he's willing to stay out of it for now, but it was clear that he was suspicious as hell today. And he didn't seem too happy with Snape either."

"Well," Ron put in optimistically, "maybe Dumbledore set him straight after you left."

Harry barked a humorless laugh. "Yeah, because that's another thing Snape takes real well, criticism. If anything, he'll just be more subtle about torturing me so that I don't even have the _option_ of reporting him."

Hermione and Ron both looked disheartened by that thought.

"Remus," Hermione volunteered, but there was no hope in her voice. They'd already worked out this possibility too, and concluded that there was nothing the werewolf could do. He was too apt to assuage his own guilt by supporting Snape blindly, and even if not, he, too would go to Lily. Not to mention that any direct action against Snape risked the Potions Master "accidentally" letting slip to the student body the truth about Remus' condition.

Harry just glowered at her lightly.

Hermione bit her lip, then closed her eyes lightly in defeat. "If there's anything we can do, Harry, anything at all…."

Harry offered Hermione a sad smile. "Just don't let him get to you. And hold me back if I start to lose my temper. Tonight's going to be bad enough."

"Git chases you over half the castle just to give you detention when you demand to know _why,_ " Ron muttered. "He has some nerve. I bet Fred and George—"

"No," Harry told him firmly. "No pranks, no retribution, nothing. Actually, if you both could just completely ignore whatever he does, that would be great. The more you glare at him and needle him, the worse he's going to be on me."

Ron grunted unhappily, and Hermione pursed her lips.

"It's just two classes a week," Harry pointed out. "And detentions."

"And weekends home, and Holidays, and the summer," Ron scathed.

"He has to be civil when Mum's around. Really, it's not so bad. Like I said, it's a small price to pay. Now," he sighed, deciding it was time for a change of topic, "Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw next Saturday….."

XXXXX

Severus tapped a nervous finger against his desk. It was nearly seven, and Potter was destined to show up at any moment.

He did not want to see the brat. Why had he agreed to this? Why had he not sighed and told Lily that regrettably he could do nothing to help the boy?

He did not know what to expect from Potter tonight. Sullenness and hateful glares, more than likely a few angry outbursts. Because Merlin forbid someone impinge upon the Golden Boy's spare time to do _work_. No, likely he would still be all too embroiled in the sheer injustice of being made to serve a detention with so little justification.

 _The boy lied to cover for you_ , a small voice reminded him.

Severus did his best to shut that voice out. He had no idea what Potter hoped to gain by playing the martyr here, but he would certainly not allow himself to feel indebted to the boy for it. After all, he reasoned, Potter could have very sensibly appealed to the Headmaster to intervene and arbitrate. And knowing Albus' weakness for the boy, Severus likely would have found himself being forced to admit that he had been in the wrong and that he should have been more forthcoming with the boy. In all likelihood, the old codger would have dug down to the previous day's incidents and had him admit fault there, too.

If Potter was too _noble_ to seek help, that was his fault. It was stupidity at best, and Severus would not endorse it.

 _Ah, but couldn't you have simply acted decently to begin with?_ That obnoxious little voice demanded.

Once again, Severus ignored it. The boy was arrogant and insufferable, not to mention the apple of every other professor's eye. A little extra scrutiny and strictness in his potions class would do him no harm.

There was a tentative knock at the classroom door.

"Enter," Severus commanded brusquely, not bothering to rise from behind his desk.

Potter slunk in, his eyes down, his posture stiff.

"Ah, if it isn't our resident martyr," Severus commented snidely. The words seemed to tumble out of their own accord.

Angry green eyes flashed up to meet his, and for a moment he could only think of Lily. But her face left his mind the instant the boy opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm here for my detention, sir."

Just a hint of surliness, but nothing too pronounced. Severus had to admit that he was slightly surprised. "Yes. I'm surprised you didn't try to plead your case to the Headmaster today. He seemed more than willing to lend a sympathetic ear, if I recall." He was hoping that, in a fit of pique, Potter might lay out whatever slipshod reasoning had led him to act as he had that morning.

Those green eyes continued to bore into his relentlessly. "As I said, sir, I'm trying to be mature about this."

Severus felt his lips curl involuntarily into a snarl. He could hear the implication behind those words, the unspoken _unlike you_. "Rather bold, lying to Professor Dumbledore. Wouldn't you agree? One wonders what you hope to gain."

Potter heaved an exasperated sigh. "Nothing. I just wanted him to understand that he doesn't need to step in and that things are handled."

Potter's ambiguity was maddening. Why couldn't the boy just come out and say what the hell he thought he was doing? He was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! He was supposed to be bold and direct, and to have a complete lack of tact! His enigmatic replies were all too… _Slytherin_.

"And just how are things 'handled'?" Severus pressed.

Potter's nostrils flared. "Can I just get on with my detention, sir?"

Severus tore his gaze away from Potter and stood. He stalked over to the store closet, his robes flagging behind him, and he tapped his wand against the handle to unlock it. He needed the time to gather his thoughts on how to explain to the boy.

He would not make concessions. He would not even hint that he had been at fault in any way, shape, or form. Nor would he give the impression that the boy's crock of lies and refusal to involve the Headmaster had in any way softened him.

He turned back to Potter and scowled at the boy. "While I think it would be more appropriate for you to be scrubbing cauldrons or preparing ingredients," he began with a sneer, "I cannot help but note that you currently do not have a passing grade in my class. Your mother was most distressed, in fact, about the prospect of her son failing such an essential course. And because I will not be held accountable for your ineptitude, you will be using your time tonight to re-brew the assignment that you failed to turn in yesterday. I, of course, have no expectation that you will even come close to succeeding, but at least this way I will be able to absolve myself of responsibility."

Severus could see the boy clenching his jaw, and noted the way his fists curled at his sides. _Go ahead_ , he thought, _try to deny it. You're a mediocre student. You can't blame that on your hated Potions Master_.

But Potter said nothing. He merely moved to an empty work station and set his bag down.

Severus pressed his lips together tightly. "Should you manage to produce an acceptable draught, you will receive a half credit. If, by some miracle, you produce an exceptional draught—exceptional by my standards, of course—you will receive full marks. Ingredients are in the store room and you may borrow a text from the cupboard if you have need. Begin."

Severus tried to return to his marking. Really, he had no desire to supervise the boy too closely. If he melted his hand off or singed his eyebrows, all the better. Then he could simply explain to Lily that the boy was accident-prone and careless, and unlikely to succeed in such a rigorous discipline.

But he found himself too curious to be entirely distracted. So he watched furtively as the boy prepared his work station, arranging his ingredients fastidiously. He'd laid his text on his right, and before he began anything he appeared to consult it quite closely. Severus watched as Potter's eyes flickered back and forth over the words.

At last the boy straightened and lit a fire beneath his cauldron. He fiddled with the flames for a moment, adjusting them rather meticulously. Finally satisfied, he started to busy himself with ingredient prep.

Severus forced himself to return to the insipid essay he'd been marking then. Fourth years, however, were far from scintillating writers, and had no groundbreaking insights on the properties of ingredients harvested from dragons. So he found his gaze wandering back to Potter.

The boy was being careful. _As he well should_ , Severus thought bitterly. He was, after all, wasting the Potions Master's evening rectifying his own carelessness. But still, Severus could not help but feel a bit shocked as he watched Potter mince eel tail and de-petal his moonflowers.

Really, he hadn't thought the boy capable of such attentiveness.

Potter seemed to be in a habit of consulting the text regularly, almost more than necessary. Before and after adding each ingredient, before and after completing a round of stirring. And during intervals of rest, the boy's finger trailed over the page as he continued to study the instructions.

Severus knew the boy was nearly finished when he began adding the pine needle. He did so steadily but cautiously, one at a time, his head hung almost dangerously low over his cauldron. After the tenth pine needle, the boy stopped, seemingly holding his breath. And then, with a tiny, almost imperceptible nod to himself, he picked up his stirring rod and began moving it through the simmering solution in a smooth, even pattern.

Ah, Severus thought. So the boy was trying to show him up, to prove his Potions Master wrong. As if one instance of success was enough to make up for two, going on three years of inadequacy.

Even with all of Potter's care, it was unlikely that he would produce a draught that was up to snuff. The Solution of Clarity was notoriously finicky, particularly in its final stages. Just a touch too much of the pine and the brew would skew acidic, and without a deft hand to manage the last bit of stirring, it would congeal slightly. Minor changes, but they would have a definite impact on the solution's potency and efficacy.

The boy's only prayer was for a passable draught.

At last the boy was done. He removed his stirring rod, banished the flames from beneath his cauldron, and set to bottling a sample. Setting the vial aside with great care, he began to clean his work station.

Severus was close to snapping at the stupid boy to leave it all and get out. He was sick of the boy's calm façade, and he wanted to be left to enjoy the rest of his evening in peace. It was as if the boy was moving slowly on purpose, just to irk him.

Finally, with the station clear, the cauldron empty, and the remaining ingredients replaced in the store room, Potter approached Severus' desk, vial in hand.

Severus snatched it from him unceremoniously and began inspecting it. The color and viscosity alone would be enough to determine the quality.

Severus turned it over and over in his hands. He held it up to the light, searching for impurity and inconsistency. He tipped it to the side and examined the streak left on the glass, much like one might at a wine tasting to assess color and alcoholic content. He even uncorked it and sniffed it.

And then he scowled.

Potter cleared his throat lightly. "Sir?"

"Dismissed."

Potter continued to stare at Severus though. "Is it—"

"I said dismissed! Out, now!"

A slow smirk curved over Potter's lips.

 _Damn the boy_.

And then he left without another word. The door thudded heavily behind him.

Severus had to fight the urge to throw the vial against the wall. Really, it was absurd that he should be overcome by such an impulse. What was it to him whether Potter failed or succeeded?

 _Now you know that you did sabotage him_ , that nuisance of a voice informed him. _Now you know that he is a capable student. Now you have no justification for your actions._

With an unhappy growl, Severus drew his wand and, touching it to his grading ledger, summoned forth the bit of magic that would award one Harry James Potter full marks for the previous day's potion.

XXXXX

The whole weekend. Harry was going to have to spend the _whole weekend_ with Snape. And this after he'd presumably enraged the bastard by… what, exactly? Brewing a potion correctly? Not rising to the bait and involving himself in a shouting match?

At least his mum would be there to offset some of the nastiness, he thought. Though really, that was not much of a comfort. After all, her presence only gave Snape more incentive to try to get Harry into trouble and out of her good graces.

And part of him was certain that was what Snape would be doing. The man had been livid after Harry's detention the other night. And if there was one thing Harry knew about Severus Snape, it was that the man did not simply bank his anger and move on with his life. No, he nursed grudges, and for whatever reason Harry had made himself the subject of one of those grudges.

The man was absolutely impossible. Fighting back made things worse. _Not_ fighting back made things _way_ worse. So what could he possibly do? Ask the man directly how he wanted Harry to act? Beg the man to be nicer? Apologize for having the audacity to even exist?

Harry sighed and stared down at his trunk miserably. Maybe if he brought all of his textbooks home, he could hide in his room under the pretext of being swamped with homework. He could only hope that Snape would be all too happy to be rid of his presence and wouldn't try to discredit his story.

The real problem was that he desperately wanted to spend time with his mum. Snape-free time. Time with just the two of them. But it seemed like that was about to become a rarity, if not a thing of the past. As if Harry needed yet another reason to resent Snape.

 _Severus_ , he reminded himself. Though the man would likely keep a tally of the number of times Harry used that informal address and pay him back for it in class. Even though it was Lily who insisted he call his "stepfather" by his given name.

Coming to a decision, Harry stuffed all his books into his bag. At least he did have essays to complete, he thought. That should keep him distracted for a while. Though he had a feeling that, by the end of the weekend, he was going to be ahead in all of his classes.

After a quick Featherlight Charm, Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and trudged back down the stairs to the common room.

Ron and Hermione were both sitting in front of the fire, waiting to see him off for the weekend.

"You look like you're about to be shipped off to Azkaban," Ron informed him.

Harry sighed. "I wish that was an option."

Hermione slapped him lightly. "Harry, don't even joke about that," she scolded him. "That place is nearly inhumane. I read—"

"Blimey, 'Mione, he's about to spend two days with _Snape_. Don't lecture him on what's _inhumane_."

Hermione sniffed indignantly but dropped the topic. Harry offered Ron a weak grin.

"You can write us every day," Hermione reminded Harry for what had to be the seventh time since dinner. "Multiple times a day if you want. We'll get you through the weekend."

Harry sighed. "I have to go. I'm supposed to floo out of Snape's quarter at eight sharp, and I really don't want to put him in an even worse mood if I can avoid it."

A hug from Hermione and a firm handshake from Ron later and Harry was headed out the portrait hole and down through the castle toward the dungeons.

He could do this, he told himself. He'd survived worse. He'd fought a basilisk, for Merlin's sake! He could make it through one measly weekend with his insufferable Potions Master.

 _Stepfather_. That word rose in his mind, unbidden, causing a wave of nausea to roil through him. No, he would never think of the man that way. He was just an unwelcome intruder, tolerated for Lily's sake.

All too soon Harry found himself standing to the side of the familiar brazier, the only one in the dungeons wrought to look like a nest of snakes writhing at the bottom of the flames. The only marker of the Head of Slytherin's private quarters. Taking a bracing breath, Harry laid his hand flush against the stone and waited.

The stone wall dissolved and the heavy wooden door behind it flew back violently, revealing a scowling Severus Snape.

"You're late."

Harry chanced a glance at his watch. _Two minutes_ , he thought bitterly, but he did not voice that. "I'm sorry. Can I come in?"

The man's lips twisted and his nose wrinkled slightly, as if he scented something unpleasant. "You _may_ ," he stressed, before turning on heel and stalking back in.

Harry tightened his grip on the strap of his bag and forced himself to take several more deep breaths as he crossed the threshold. He would not lose his temper. He would not give Snape the satisfaction.

He didn't let himself look around the chamber at all. Snape was a private man and the best way to avoid provoking him would be to get the hell out of his rooms as soon as he could. So Harry strode directly over to the fireplace and waited, keeping his eyes on his shoes.

"We're going to have a little chat before we leave, so you might as well sit," Snape informed him, sneering the words.

Harry bit his tongue—hard—and slumped down on the sofa with perhaps a little too much force.

"I suggest you leave that attitude behind when we floo," Snape commanded softly, rounding the edge of the sofa and coming to tower directly over Harry. "I will not have my weekend spoiled by an adolescent fit of temper."

Harry wanted to shoot back, _And I won't have my weekend spoiled by a greasy arsehole with a god complex_. But he knew that would only cause more problems than he was equipped to deal with, so he merely bobbed his head in affirmation that he'd heard.

"I know how your mind works, Potter," Snape continued in that same silky tone. His lip was curled enough that Harry could make out a few of the man's crooked yellow teeth. "I know that you're plotting some kind of retribution for my perceived slights against you. And I want you to know that I. Will. Not. Have. It."

Harry cocked a brow at the man. Snape was mental. Positively paranoid. "I'm sorry, sir?" he inquired, his tone innocent and confused.

"Don't play stupid with me," the man snarled, his black eyes flashing. "I don't buy for a second this kowtowed, contrite act you've been putting on. You're planning something for this weekend, and I don't know what it is, but I suggest you abandon it _this instant_. Because if you do try something, you will be very sorry. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry met the man's eyes and tried to convey as much sincerity as he could. "I am not plotting anything. I just want to get through this weekend. Sir."

Snape looked unconvinced. "As do I."

"I don't know what you think I'd do!" Harry burst out angrily. "I'm really not stupid, you know. I really meant it when I told my mum you both had my blessing. I'm not _plotting_ or _scheming_ or… or anything!"

"Don't give me that tripe," Snape hissed, folding his arms tightly over his chest. "You'd love to turn her against me—"

"Oh, yeah, and you'd do the same. You'll take every opportunity you can to paint me as the thoughtless, ungrateful son—"

"That's hardly work, Potter."

Harry clamped his mouth shut and closed his eyes. No, he was letting himself get drawn into this. And he couldn't win. There was no arguing with the man, no proving anything to him. Severus Snape hated him, and would always hate him. He would never see anything in Harry but a thorn in his side, a carbon copy of his childhood tormentor and romantic rival.

The only way to win this fight was to walk away. So that was what he did.

"Sir, my mum is waiting for us."

Harry opened his eyes and met Snape's heavy glare.

"You've been warned. If you try to poison Lily against me, you will regret it."

Harry nodded wearily. "Yes, sir. I understand. Can we—shall we leave?"

Snape studied him for a moment longer, as if he could figure Harry out if he just looked hard enough. "Very well. I hope your acting is up to par—"

"Of course, Severus," Harry said cheerily, forcing himself into the role of the contented stepson.

Snape turned toward the fireplace with a growl. "You first, Potter. I won't have you alone in my rooms."

Harry didn't wait for further invitation. A pinch of floo powder and shout later and he was stepping through into safer territory, the cozy sitting room of their London flat.

Lily was waiting for him, curled up in her usual place before the fire. She extracted herself from beneath her green afghan and rose to greet him, a wide smile on her lips. "Fawn," she sighed.

Harry dropped his bag and stepped into her embrace. He found himself hugging her just a little too hard, and clinging to her for just a few seconds too long.

"Long week?" she asked him softly, concern lacing her melodic tone.

"Yeah," he mumbled, pulling back. "You?"

"Not too bad." The smile grew again, but her eyes were still full of concern. "I'd tell you all about it, but… you know the job description."

"The joke never gets old," Snape's dry voice remarked from behind them.

"Sev!" Lily exclaimed happily, practically throwing herself into the man's arms.

Harry fixed his gaze on the sofa's faded floral pattern. Idly, he wondered if he could live the rest of his life pretending Snape wasn't married to his mother. Maybe he could induce—what was it Hermione had jokingly suggested—some kind of dissociative psychosis? Yeah, that would be good.

Lily and Snape murmured to each other for a few minutes, their voices too soft for Harry to hear. He probably didn't want to know what was said anyway, he thought. Not until he could Obliviate himself after with enough skill to avoid permanent brain damage. He tried to block out his mother's delighted little giggle, and worse, Snape's throaty chuckle.

After a moment, Harry picked up his bag and wandered back to his bedroom. He felt a certain tension leave his shoulders as he crossed into the private space— _his space_. He took his time laying his books out on his small desk, relishing the sense of finally being free. Even if freedom meant locking himself away in an overcrowded space and studying for two days. In between these four walls, there was no one he needed to hide from, no reason to put on a brave face.

He flopped down on the bed for just a moment, deciding to allow himself some time to recover before he headed back out into the fray. He must have closed his eyes for just a little too long, though, because before he knew it he heard the telltale creak of his door hinges.

His eyes flew open, startled. "Mum," he began, "what—"

Of course it wasn't his mum. She would have knocked, as she always did, as a courtesy to him. As a sign of respect.

Snape stood in the doorway, brow furrowed, lip curled once again in disgust. "Sulking already?" he hissed softly, low enough that Lily had no chance of overhearing.

Harry glared right back at him. He pushed himself to his feet and folded his arms over his chest. "No. I was putting my things away. And giving you two a bit of privacy."

Snape scoffed. "You were hiding like a petulant child. Now get out here before your mother suspects something is wrong—"

Right on cue, Lily poked her head around the doorframe. "Everything all right?" she asked to no one in particular.

Snape, who was behind Lily and positioned so that Lily could not see his face, shot Harry a look that clearly said _now you've done it_.

Harry forced his expression to relax. "Yeah. I was just getting settled back in when Severus popped by to check on me. I was explaining to him that one of our house rules is to knock before entering into private rooms—you know, like your study. Or my bedroom."

Snape's face darkened, and he opened his mouth to deliver what was no doubt a scathing reply, but Lily beat him to the punch.

"Oh, I'm sure I mentioned that. Didn't I, Sev? It's just an agreement between Harry and myself. You know, we both enjoy our privacy." She turned her eyes to Snape.

Harry couldn't help it. As soon as her eyes were off him, he smirked at Snape. Small victories, he thought.

"Ah, must have slipped my mind," Snape murmured apologetically. "In the future I'll endeavor to be more… mindful."

Lily turned back to Harry, who had schooled his face once more by the time her eyes met his. "Well, enough of that. Let's have dinner, shall we? You both must be famished."

Harry's eyes flickered to Snape. He sensed that something was amiss here. "Oh—I, uh, I didn't realize you'd cooked. I ate in the Great Hall already."

Lily frowned, her brown crumpling in slight consternation. "Didn't Sev tell you?"

Snape's nostrils flared in warning.

Harry fought not to roll his eyes. Of all the petty, childish things…. "Oh yeah…." He tried to look abashed. "Now I remember. Sorry, Mum, it totally slipped my mind. We had Quidditch tonight, see, and I got caught up in a scrimmage afterward. And by the time I got back to the castle I was starving, and Ron and Hermione were already there…. Forgive me?"

Lily did look disappointed. Harry hated that. But with her characteristic grace she murmured, "Of course. It's fine. Maybe we can plan something else out for tomorrow."

"I could probably eat a little," Harry hedged. "What did you make?"

Lily's face brightened just slightly. "Your favorite. Shepherd's pie with—"

"Treacle tart for dessert," Harry finished for her, his face splitting in a wide grin. "Well, I'll definitely have room for that. I'm really sorry I spoiled my appetite, though—"

Lily waved away his apology. "Just try to be more aware next time. I know you have a lot going on, but I believe I did get you a lovely charmed planner for your birthday, didn't I? Is that sitting in your trunk gathering dust?"

Well, here was something he could actually feel bad about. "Maybe…."

"I ought to write to Hermione," Lily threatened lightly. "I'm certain she'd set you straight."

"Sorry, Mum," Harry mumbled.

Lily heaved a theatrical sigh. "Go get washed up. We'll meet you in the dining room. Sev, will you help me set the table?"

Snape smirked at Lily. "More menial labor, hm? Ah, the trials of married life."

"Quit your whining or I'll have you scrubbing floors tomorrow."

With that they both strolled off toward the kitchen.

Harry stared after Snape for just a moment, allowing himself to indulge in the little fantasy of the man on his knees, brush and bucket in hand. If only his mother would carry through on that threat. Not likely, he knew, but a boy could dream.

Dinner was a quiet affair, an alternation of small talk between Lily and Harry and Snape and Lily. Harry exchanged a few small remarks with Snape, but for the most part they ignored each other.

After a second helping of dessert (Harry hadn't eaten much before leaving Hogwarts, thankfully), Harry helped to clear the table and do the washing up. When Lily suggested they all settle in together in front of the fire, though, Harry excused himself.

"I really am beat," he protested. "We were in the air for hours tonight. I think I'm going to call it early tonight, if you and Severus don't mind. Otherwise I'll sleep the morning away."

Lily laughed at that. "I don't think Sev would let you. I never hear the end of it when I sleep past nine."

"Obscenely late," Snape growled, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

"Why _everyone_ needs to be up to appreciate the 'peacefulness of the early morning' with you, I'll never understand…."

Harry could tell that things were fast devolving into the light bantering that set his teeth on edge, mostly because the sight of Snape on such familiar, pleasant terms with his mother was still such an unsettling thing. So he quickly decided to formulate an exit plan.

"Night, Mum." He wrapped her in a quick hug. Then, swallowing back bile, he turned to Snape and said as pleasantly as possible, "Night, Severus."

The man's face remained expressionless. He dipped his head in a curt nod of acknowledgment.

"Goodnight, Harry," Lily bade him warmly. "Don't let the Nifflers bite."

Harry retreated hastily to his bedroom to hide the embarrassed blush that had stolen over his face. Merlin, Snape was going to witness all these private moments now. He was going to _taint_ them.

Harry closed his door lightly behind him and flopped, face-first, onto the bed. Why in the name of all that was sweet and good did his mother have to love _Severus Snape_?


	3. Chapter 3

Severus stared up at the ceiling for quite a while. Normally it was not his habit to remain in bed so long after waking, but with Lily at his side, her warm, soft body molded against him, it was hard to summon the necessary will to disentangle himself from the bedclothes.

So he reveled for a while in the sweetness of the quiet predawn, and the deep, steady rhythm of Lily's breathing as he contemplated how the day might unfold.

He would have a few hours, at least, before Potter woke up.

The boy. If only he could have somehow convinced Lily to have him stay at Hogwarts. But no, she had taken to this ridiculous notion that he needed more _bonding time_ with the brat. And so a perfectly good weekend would be ruined by the boy's nasty displays and tantrums, like the one he'd witnessed the night before. Hiding in his room like a spiteful little boy—as if he wasn't thirteen and well past such atrocious behavior. And then the nerve of him, daring to insinuate that Severus had somehow violated his privacy! He'd cracked the door open, nothing more, and only because Lily had been worried that Harry was upset or ill.

Though Potter had, yet again, chosen not to tattle on him. Dinner was a trivial matter, and he knew it was unlikely that Lily would believe that Severus, who was always perfectly organized and self-aware, had failed to pass on her message to Potter. No, far more likely would be the case of Potter, so wrapped up in his own little world, forgetting about his mother's plans, and then trying to churlishly blame everything on his hated… _stepfather_. Oh, how he loathed that title with every fiber of his being.

 _But you never told the boy_ , that infuriating little voice reminded him. _And he still took the blame. Lily was disappointed in him and he never bothered to correct her._

Well. He would not trouble himself with trying to parse out Potter's absurd thought process.

As much as he tried to deny it, though, Severus could feel the undeniable stirrings of guilt deep within him as he gazed down at Lily. Her face was so smooth, so peaceful, so content in sleep…. Would she willingly lie beside him again if she learned how callously he treated her son? Would she find rest this easily? Or would her forehead crease with guilt as she tormented herself with thoughts of how much the man she'd married hated her own flesh and blood?

Severus knew that he had to be better. That he had to stop expecting the boy to be perfect. He couldn't be; he was an adolescent, a teenager, for Merlin's sake. He couldn't keep using Potter's attitude as an excuse for his own. If not, he would lose the one thing he cherished in this life above all others.

He couldn't bear to continue to stare down at Lily with those morbid thoughts plaguing him. So, swiftly and carefully, he extricated himself from the cocoon of blankets that ensconced him and his new wife. As he drew away from Lily's side, she stirred slightly, then turned to face him with sleepy, slitted eyes.

"Where's the fire?" she slurred, her mouth barely moving.

Severus grinned in spite of himself. "I take it you won't be joining me yet?" His voice was husky, a rarity. He was certain that Lily was the only one ever to hear it so rough.

She groaned and buried her face back in her pillow.

"So no, then." He chuckled softly to himself as he moved over to the dresser to search for a t-shirt and long flannel bottoms. It was only quarter 'til six, and he had no doubt that Potter wouldn't be plaguing him with his presence anytime soon, but he was still far too self-conscious to leave the bedroom with just a pair of boxers beneath his dressing gown.

Appropriately attired—though mostly everything was hidden beneath his heavy midnight blue dressing gown—Severus slipped from the bedroom, closing the door very lightly behind him.

The flat was lovely in the morning. He was glad that he had officially "moved in" a few months before the wedding. It had made it so much easier to slip over late in the evening and simply spend the night when he and Lily lost track of time.

That, and it was infinitely comforting to be in a place that was so… Lily. Each time he entered into the kitchen, he could not help but admire how welcoming it was. Lily had done it in light, airy colors—mellowed tones of blue and yellow on the walls, with cherry wood countertops and white cupboards. The appliances were modern enough, well-made but not overly expensive (appropriate, since as far as Severus knew, Lily only rarely engaged in Muggle cooking, vastly preferring magical methods). The curtains were simple, cheery prints purchased on a trip to Provence, and perfectly matched the relaxed atmosphere.

Normally designs like this did not suit Severus' tastes; he preferred simpler, darker schemes. But this… it felt as if Lily's smile and laughter had been infused into the very walls.

He ran a loving hand over the countertop as he made his way over to the cupboard where the coffee and French press were stored. A wave of his wand and the beans, water, and press started on their way, the first part of this cherished morning ritual. There were few pleasures in Severus' mind that compared to that first cup of strong black coffee, accompanied by a book, in the pale light of the crack of dawn.

Severus' thoughts drifted back to the image of Lily curled at his side and he smiled involuntarily to himself. Well, he thought, few pleasures that had nothing to do with his lovely wife.

As the coffee brewed to his preferred strength, Severus took the time to meander into the sitting room where Lily's vast collection of books overflowed from her study. He'd originally debated dredging up his half-perused Potions journal, but decided against it. The tedious articles on minute advancements in the field did not seem appropriate for the mood of this morning.

So he took his time browsing along the shelves, running a gentle hand over the curved spines. Occasionally the inherent magic of a particular tome would catch his interest, and he would slide it out and seek out the title before leafing through a few pages. This, too, he decided, was one of the finer—well, wholly _non-erotic_ —pleasures that life had to offer, something that settled perfectly beside the joy of his first cup of coffee. In particular was the pleasure of exploring an unfamiliar collection; his own shelves in his quarters, and even in the seldom-used home at Spinner's End, were familiar, filled with old friends and companions from decades of solitude and scholarly pursuit.

Severus at last settled on a handsome volume—small, not overly wide, and bound in what appeared to be Welsh Green dragonhide—entitled _The Potioneer's Guide to Useful Charms_. The well-thumbed pages spoke of Lily's frequent attentions to this particular tome, something that hardly surprised Severus, given the subject.

Severus returned to the kitchen to retrieve his mug of coffee, and then contemplated where he might settle to live out his last hours of peace and quiet for the day, before Potter ruined the atmosphere with his glaring and moodiness.

Well, Severus thought, perhaps not, if the Potter brat could be persuaded to retire early as he had the night before. That had been an unexpected treat, an evening with Lily all to himself. The boy hadn't made a peep from his room. Severus didn't know if it was because the brat was sulking, plotting, wary of making a nuisance of himself, or—least likely of all—truly exhausted. He didn't particularly care.

Maybe he could strike some kind of bargain with the boy, or better yet, threaten him with a miserable week at Hogwarts if he didn't make himself scarce. Merlin knew the boy could simply plead that he had too much work to do.

With a concerted effort, Severus managed to expel all thoughts of Potter from his mind. No use in spoiling the perfection of this quiet morning by fretting over what was to come.

Book in one hand and coffee in the other, Severus used a bit of magical will to open the door leading out to the terrace, where, in the chilled air, he settled into one of the patio chairs. He cast a Warming Charm over himself before crossing his legs and diving into the book.

An hour and two cups of coffee later, Severus heard rattling in the kitchen. Thinking that Lily had decided to defy his expectations by dragging herself out of bed, Severus abandoned his reading to go and greet her properly.

To his dismay, it wasn't Lily that he found in the kitchen, but Potter.

The boy had dragged out two skillets, a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread, and a container of breakfast meats and, through bleary eyes, seemed to be starting on preparations for a substantial breakfast.

The boy's gaze lifted wearily to Severus, and something tightened in those green eyes as his posture stiffened. Severus prepared for an insult or something equally childish.

Instead, the boy asked in an only slightly resentful tone, "Did you want a cup of tea?"

Severus arched a skeptical brow at Potter. "Playing house-elf, Potter?"

The boy had the audacity to roll his eyes. "It's a yes or no question," he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Severus to hear. "Fine. I'm putting the water on. Do you eat eggs and bacon and the like?"

Severus continued to eye the scene before him, trying to put it all together. What on earth had compelled the boy to rise so early and start cooking, of all things?

"Trying to crawl back into your mother's good graces?" Severus tried, willing the question to be cool and free of the snide edge he would normally employ.

Of course the boy wouldn't even notice that, though. He whirled around, his green eyes bright with anger again, his nostrils flaring at the perceived insult. "For your information," he hissed, his voice low and remarkably controlled, "I make breakfast every Saturday I'm home. I have since Mum started trusting me in the kitchen on my own, because she always did all the meals during the week and I always wanted her to have a break on the weekends. _Sir_."

Severus willed his temper to calm. He had to try with the boy, he reminded himself. For Lily. "That explains why you retired so early last night," he remarked mildly.

The boy's fists clenched at his sides.

What the hell had he said? Was the boy offended by a simple attempt at polite conversation?

"I _retired early_ ," he ground out, "to spare you from having to endure my company. Before you decided to lie or plot or scheme to get me in trouble and out of the way yourself. Or did you think I was just pouting all night?"

Potter's words knocked Severus off kilter. What was the brat going on about? He thought that Severus would engineer some way to get him sent to bed early? The thought had not crossed his mind.

 _It might have_ , a part of him argued, _if Potter had lingered after dinner like Lily wanted_.

That thought had him feeling defensive, so Severus replied coldly, "That assertion is patently absurd. I have better things to do than plot to put you at odds with your mother; you seem to manage that quite well on your own."

 _Liar_ , the voice told him. _The boy's not so stupid as to not see what you've done, what you've continually tried to do. He knows how petty you've been. No use in denying it._

"As for your pouting," Severus continued rather haughtily, brushing aside those troublesome thoughts, "your foul mood this morning leads me to believe that even sleep was unable to shake you out of your sulkiness."

Potter laughed bitterly, shocking Severus. "Right. Of course." The boy shook his head to himself and turned away from Severus, back to the ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter. Then seeming to regain his train of thought, he set to filling the teakettle from the tap. "Did you need something in the kitchen? Because if not, it would be nice if you could go back to hating me in silence until Mum gets up."

Those insolent words caused something in Severus to snap. He strode forward; three steps carried him to the boy's side. He seized the adolescent's scrawny arm in a punishing grip and bent down so he could speak directly into Potter's ear. "Do you think that because we are not at school that I cannot discipline you? Because I would be more than happy to disabuse you of that notion here and now, Potter. And I promise you that you will not be writing lines or scrubbing cauldrons."

Severus watched in grim satisfaction as the boy's face turned the appropriate mortified shade of red, clearly catching the implication of Severus' words. _Yes_ , he thought, _stew on that for a while. I may not want to be your stepfather, boy, but having a little extra authority over you might not be such a bad thing._

Potter twisted to face him, looking, strangely enough, not angry, but defeated. "You're going to ruin it." The words were barely a whisper, a horrified realization spoken not to Severus but to himself.

Severus shook the boy's arm slightly, as if that could force him to make sense. "Ruin what?"

Potter just shook his head, though, and wrenched himself free of Severus' grip. "What did I say that wasn't true? You don't want to talk to me. You want to insult me and make me unhappy. I don't want to sit here and drone out 'yes sir' and 'no sir' until you get bored and move on to something else. So is it really that hard to see why I'd rather you just keep away from me?"

"Your tone—"

Potter turned to face him again, and in that instant his eyes were blazing with indignation. "You have been _awful_ to me since you first laid eyes on me. You constantly mock me, you criticize my intelligence in front of everyone, and generally do what you can to make my life miserable. And now you've invaded my private life too. And don't give me some tripe about being too young to really need a private life. I need some kind of reprieve from what I put up with from you _and you have taken that away from me_. And you've been even worse lately! Hell, you purposely waited until my potion was at a critical stage to call me away from it, just so you could make some baseless accusations of cheating! And Merlin forbid I show the slightest bit of frustration, because that's insolence and disrespect, and you don't tolerate that! And as if that's not enough, you have to ruin every part of my life! _You didn't tell me Mum was cooking dinner_. How vindictive are you? And now—now you sweep in here, and I offer you bloody tea and ask what you want for breakfast, and you somehow twist that in your mind into some personal insult!

"I'm not trying to fight you, Snape! If you haven't noticed, I've been doing my best to just ignore everything you've done, because I don't want Mum to find out! But you seem so determined to make me suffer every moment you possibly can. I'm sick of lying to cover it up. I'm sick of turning the other cheek."

"Cease this melodrama," Severus cut in, his tone sharp. He fought against the tide of emotions rising in him as a result of this confrontation. Particularly the shame. _Potter is exaggerating, as usual, casting himself as the blameless victim. Well, I won't allow that kind of delusion_. "Your choices to be _less than honest_ in your dealings with others cannot be placed at my feet. If you are so certain of these _grave injustices_ , you should have brought your concerns before the headmaster when you had the chance. Unsurprisingly, your little victim complex has twisted this affair in your mind so that all you can see is the unfairness that your actions should have consequences, that someone should not treat you with the awe and hero-worship you feel you deserve. What you fail to acknowledge is your own role in all these incidents, your own blatant lack of respect toward me, or your failure to communicate, or your inconsistent study habits. If you wish to discuss those shortcomings, I would be more than happy to do so; I would even enjoy bringing your mother into the fold, so that we might set things to rights in your mind. Shall we?"

The color drained from Potter's face at that suggestion. Severus had to suppress a triumphant smirk.

The boy drew a deep breath, so deep that his shoulders rose nearly to his ears with the force of his inhalation. And then he pushed the air out slowly, his eyes falling lightly closed. "No, sir," he said very quietly, in a perfectly deferent tone.

Severus could not keep the smugness from his voice. "That's what I thought."

The teakettle started whistling loudly from the stove. Potter leapt to pull it from the heat before the high-pitched sound could disturb Lily; Severus flicked a light Silencing Charm at it for good measure. Severus watched as Potter made himself a cup of tea in one of Lily's chipped floral mugs, then turned back to his breakfast preparations. He settled himself quietly into a chair, forgetting his lukewarm coffee and reading on the terrace.

The boy moved with alacrity and certainty, Severus had to admit. When Potter wasn't firing off his infernal mouth, his presence was almost tolerable. And it was fascinating to watch the boy throw together this breakfast, no hesitation in his steps. He set the bacon to fry and the toast to brown before setting to cracking the eggs into a glass bowl.

The silence stretched between them, filled with only the soft sounds of Potter's culinary efforts. The clink of utensils against glass or metal, the sizzle of the bacon, the gentle mechanical click of the toaster's timer. And as that silence stretched, the tension lessened, and the bitterness that seemed to hang between them like a choking black cloud seemed to dissipate.

At last, as Potter finished removing the bacon from the pan before lining up bowls of ingredients he'd prepared after the eggs, Severus decided to attempt speaking again.

Hopefully this time, he thought, the brat's cheek wouldn't derail his efforts at civility.

"Omelets?" he inquired mildly.

Potter jumped a little at the sound of his voice and cast a quick glance back at him, as if surprised the man were still in the kitchen. Then, turning back to the grease-filled pan, he replied evenly, "Yeah." Severus saw the boy's hands tighten on the countertop so violently that it forced all the blood from his knuckles, leaving them pale. "Would you like one, sir?" It sounded as if Potter were trying to keep from grinding his teeth.

Severus chose to ignore that. At least the boy had been polite. "I would."

"What kind?"

"Mushroom and cheese, I should think."

Potter nodded tightly, and he set to fulfilling the request, exhibiting the same practiced ease that he had with every other part of the meal.

Severus leaned back a little in his chair and watched, trying to make sense of the boy's demeanor. Clearly he was not happy, but was restraining himself—as evidenced by his death grip on the counter.

He had sworn to make an effort. And so far he'd only succeeded in threatening the boy with corporal punishment. Oh, and not to mention suggesting that he would gladly disparage him to Lily when, as far as he could tell, Potter had not made one complaint about his new stepfather. And yes, perhaps Potter had been out of line with his little outburst bemoaning Severus' distinctly cold and austere disposition, but Severus knew, and freely admitted to himself, that the tirade the boy had poured out had not been wholly undeserved. Potter needed to control himself and exhibit more respect, regardless, but he had been goaded and pushed in this instance.

The problem now was that Severus had few ideas about how to set things to rights. He certainly wasn't about to utter an apology of any sort; that was not merited. But, he thought, he could do something other than sit and observe the boy.

"Shall I start tidying up a bit?"

Potter's gaze flickered briefly back to him. "If you want." His voice was carefully neutral, too bland to be natural.

Severus flicked his wand at the counters and began banishing the remains of Potter's preparations. Egg shells, bread crumbs, packaging. There was little to do, though, and after a few cursory flicks all that could be tidied had been.

Harry flipped the omelet in the pan and slid it neatly onto a plate retrieved from the cupboard before pouring more egg mixture into the pan and immediately continuing on with his efforts.

"You cook every weekend?" Severus inquired as he retrieved his cooked-to-order breakfast. He piled a few pieces of toast and bacon onto the plate before returning to the table.

"When I'm home." Still that same bland voice that bordered on robotic.

As Potter continued to took, Snape inspected his omelet with his fork. It looked to be well-done, he had to admit. Fluffy, cooked but neither too runny nor too dry, and unbrowned for the most part. Even the cheese seemed to be melted thoroughly. And this all cooked by the Muggle means. The boy's culinary prowess was mildly impressive.

Snape watched as Potter finished up two more omelets. He noticed that the boy added tomatoes and green onions to Lily's, a combination he knew she relished. Apparently her son knew her preferences as well as he did; that thought settled uncomfortably in his stomach for some reason.

Once Potter had finished and plated the food, he killed the fire on the gas range, distributed the remaining toast and bacon, and carefully carried both plates over to the table before turning rather abruptly and making to leave the kitchen.

"Too good to share a table with me?" Severus snapped. As if he wouldn't notice the brat snubbing him so blatantly.

Potter paused in the doorway and turned back. His brow was furrowed, and his jaw clenched tight in irritation. "I usually wait for Mum."

"And you did not think to make the same suggestion to me?" Severus hissed. "Payback for—"

"You can eat whenever you'd like," Potter cut him off. "No one's stopping you."

"Our food will grow cold—"

"I'd say cast a Warming Charm," Potter grumbled, "but the plates are already charmed. Just like the rest of the china." The boy chose to speak just slowly enough that it couldn't be construed as deliberately offensive, but Severus had no trouble hearing the underlying contempt.

 _Well_ , he told himself, _you have been behaving rather childishly._

He cleared his throat lightly. "Ah. Yes, I'd… forgotten."

Potter looked as though he were restraining himself from rolling his eyes. He turned to leave again.

Severus fought down the sense of shame bubbling up in him. The boy had made breakfast without any fuss, and here he'd all but accused him of concocting some scheme to upset Lily somehow. If he continued like this… well, he was certain to trip into the nice, deep hole he'd dug for himself any day now.

Perhaps he could make a bit more of an effort at building a relationship with Potter. It would be nice, he thought, for things not to be so strained all the time. Certainly they could learn to at least peacefully coexist, provided they both put forth the minimal requisite effort.

"Join me for a cup of tea?" Severus suggested, working to make the invitation as easy-going as possible.

The look of shock and suspicion on the boy's face might have had him laughing if it weren't for the fact that he was already feeling so nervous and out-of-sorts. "Uh… no. No thanks."

"Better things to do?" A slight bitter edge crept back into his voice.

"I wouldn't want to…ah… disturb your peace and quiet." And then the boy muttered, in a voice he likely thought too low for Severus to hear, "With my offensive existence."

Severus frowned, but before he could say another word Potter had retreated to another part of the house. Likely to his bedroom, to laze about for a few more hours.

He remained at the table for a few more moments, pondering over his next move. Dumbledore's chastisement about the olive branch the boy— _Harry_ —had extended echoed in his head. Was he really so petty as to risk ruining everything with Lily simply because he could not repress his baser instincts when confronted by James' spawn?

He sighed and rose to make himself a fortifying cup of tea. He was going to have to come up with a concrete plan to approach the boy and begin to mend the damage he'd done. Something more than inviting the boy to an awkward cup of tea after belittling and threatening him.

Never mind that he'd much rather hand-harvest a dozen gallons of bubotuber pus.

Well, he thought, there was nothing for it. The cauldron was set, as Master Fortunado—the elderly Italian wizard he'd apprenticed under—would have said. Now all he could do was pray that the whole thing didn't blow up in his face.

XXXXX

Harry decided on the sunroom. He doubted Snape would look for him there, and the warm rays provided by the enchanted window panes would be pleasant in the slightly chilled morning air.

More than that, he had a ready-made confidante to complain to. And he certainly needed one right then. He was just millimeters away from turning back on Snape and screaming at the insufferable, arrogant man.

It was as if he were trying to egg Harry into a shouting match still! As if for some reason he enjoyed pushing Harry as much as possible, as if he wanted to see how long it would take for his new stepson to snap back and give him an excuse to dole out an extremely cruel punishment.

Harry forced himself to draw a calm breath as he settled down onto his usual cushion. He quickly scanned the barren tree structure that dominated the center of the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of bright green scales. But the structure was empty.

Harry desperately hoped Epione wasn't far. The beautiful snake he'd adopted as his second familiar (much to Hedwig's displeasure) tended to sun herself in the early hours of the morning, but occasionally she would slip into the walls through the small hole Harry had made in order to do some hunting. She was a magical breed of Boomslang, and thus was in tune with Harry's magical signature just as Hedwig was, but they had only been bonded for six months, and so the tug through that invisible bond was still developing.

" _Epione_ ," Harry called, making certain to fixate upon the image of a snake in his mind. " _Are you hidden in the in-between place? Will you come speak?_ "

Harry waited for a moment with bated breath. He _really_ hoped Epione wasn't too involved in hunting, or worse, in one of her strange snits. As many differences as there were between their worlds, and as challenging as it sometimes was to convey his worries and grievances in Parseltongue, Harry was grateful for his companion. Originally, Lily had insisted he take on a snake in order to come to terms with being a Parselmouth, something that Harry had struggled with after the Chamber of Secrets debacle, and Harry had grudgingly agreed, knowing that the skill might be a useful one to cultivate.

But the end of the previous year—the spring, he knew—had been the start of what adults termed a Serious Relationship between Snape and his mother. There had been low, intense discussions, and demands of what "this" was, and where were they going, and what their future would look like. And then the damned ring that the greasy bastard had offered her—silver and emerald, inlaid with tiny opalescent pearls. Slytherin colors, of course.

That was when Harry had truly begun to appreciate his mastery of the magical language of snakes. And, coincidentally, about the time he started to learn some of the more colorful insults Parseltongue had to offer, as greasy, self-important bastard did not translate so well.

But there had been _egg-breaker who chokes on small bones_ and _rancid morsel the high-flying sharp talons would not touch_ , and his personal favorite, _slow-crawling nest castoff mocked by mice and crickets_. Granted, Parseltongue insults tended to be long-winded and inelegant, but they were so very descriptive, and there was something immensely satisfying about all the sharp hisses they contained.

Epione had gotten him through the spring and summer engagement, and the late August wedding, and the emptiness of the flat during the two-week honeymoon that Harry could not think about without feeling seriously nauseous. Even Remus' cheerful presence hadn't been able to dispel the dark mood that had overtaken Harry during their absence.

Well, likely because the werewolf had decided to give at least one impromptu lecture per day on misjudging people, and Severus' hard life, and _natural jealousy_ , as he'd called it, in competing for his mother's affections. He loved the man dearly, but at the end of those two hellish weeks he'd been ready to hex Remus halfway to Sunday.

At last Harry heard Epione's soft response, somewhat muffled by the sunroom's paneled walls. " _The Warm Boy is angry today._ " Her tiny head and over-large black eyes appeared at the hole at the back of the room, followed by the rest of her long, elegant body. She was a good three feet now, and the shopkeeper had informed Harry that she would likely continue to grow over the years, as Boomslangs tended to be fairly large snakes.

" _The horrid black man is here._ "

Epione slithered across the room to Harry and quickly twined herself around him and up and over his shoulders. " _He is here often. His stench fills the room of your Protector-Woman._ "

Harry smiled slightly to himself at the Parseltongue phrase for mother. It had been a curious thing at first, to realize that snakes had no concept of parents. But then, he knew well that snake eggs were laid and abandoned; mothers did not tend to the next generation or teach their young. The only knowledge of parenting snakes had was from their observations of mammalian predators and prey; Epione's own ancestral knowledge was linked mostly to the observation of fearsome lions and other large cats.

And since there _certainly_ was no word for "wicked stepfather" in Parseltongue, Harry had taken to using descriptive epithets instead. Today he used a mild one, despite his boiling anger.

" _His stench will soon fill our whole nest,_ " Harry muttered ruefully. _"He is bonded to my Protector-Woman."_

 _"He still bites at you when you pass and twists his words with your Protector-Woman?"_

Epione's way of asking if Snape was still tormented him and lied to his mother about it. Harry stroked the snake's head gently with two fingers, willing the smooth, polished texture of her scales to calm him. _"Yes. Today I offered him prey and still he threatened to bite me. And some sunrises ago he—_ " Here Harry struggled to put his frustration with his potions class and his undeserved detentions into words. " _When he showed me the secrets of his mystery waters"—_ Epione had a rudimentary understanding of potions, as much as a snake could understand—" _he ruined the mystery water I was making, and then he imprisoned me_." There was no way to causally link the two instances, the ruined potion and the detention; snakes had no concept of punishment, and no grammatical structure of Parseltongue would allow Harry to convey the true relationship between those two wrongs. So he settled for listing them as separate complaints.

 _"Dust-eater,"_ Epione hissed angrily. " _Wicked consort of the talon-beasts."_

Harry grinned again. This was likely why Hedwig was exceptionally unimpressed by Epione; there were few terrible insults in Parseltongue that did not refer to the most horrid beasts imaginable to snakes, the winged sky beasts, owls in particular.

" _I will bite his ankle, Warm Boy, and he will quiver when my venom enters him like the small warm-beasts. He will make a fine meal._ "

Harry couldn't help but laugh a little at the mental image of Epione unhinging her jaw and trying to ingest Snape; she would have to start small, maybe with a toe….

"Sharing a joke?"

Harry whipped around, unnerved. And sure enough there stood the dust-eater himself, arms folded over his chest, brow arched in a cold, disdainful expression. By Merlin, couldn't the man leave him in peace?

Epione let loose a low, angry hiss and began unwinding herself lithely from around his neck.

 _"Don't bite him_ ," Harry commanded quickly. He didn't think that she would; she understood well enough that she was not to attack humans, even if she sometimes threatened to attack Snape. Then, addressing the bane of his existence in English, Harry answered, "Yeah. It doesn't translate though."

Epione slid forward relentlessly toward Snape. The man stared down at her in consternation, as if trying to decipher just what she meant to do.

 _"Leave him be,_ " Harry repeated, this time with a bit more authority.

 _"I will not harm the egg-swallowing dust-eater,"_ Epione promised, though there was a hint of reluctance in her sibilant reply. " _I only mean to frighten him so that he knows his place_."

" _No_ ," Harry practically growled. That was just what he needed, another altercation between them, this time Snape claiming that Harry had set his venomous pet snake after him. "Sir, you might want to leave," Harry suggested swiftly. "She doesn't like strangers, and Boomslangs are a rather aggressive breed."

 _"I will only nip at his ankles,"_ Epione wheedled. _"And perhaps show him my fangs. I will not break his skin. He is but a blow snake himself. He hisses loudly but he has no fangs."_

Harry had to fight down a snort of amusement at that frank assessment.

Snape's eyes remained on Epione; he eyed her warily, but showed no signs of retreating. "She is your familiar, is she not? I'm certain that she will listen to you."

"She has a mind of her own," Harry ground out, rising to his feet, his eyes still on Epione. The large snake had slowed in her advance and was now dangerously still, her beady black eyes locked on her prey. "I wouldn't take the chance. She _really_ doesn't like strangers."

 _"What are you telling him, Warm Boy?"_ Epione demanded curiously. " _You should tell him that his stomach is weak and that he will choke on his next meal."_

"Is she warning me off?" Snape inquired curiously, his tone surprisingly level.

"Something like that." There was no way in hell Harry was going to try to translate the insult.

" _Tell him that he is so stupid that he cowers from the shadows of passing clouds, because he does not know their darkness from the blackness of wings, fool dust-eater that he is—"_

 _"Enough,"_ Harry grumbled. He liked many insults in Parseltongue, but some of them were too long and rambling to be effective. " _The horrid black man will not leave, and I disturbed your hunt. You should return to the in-between place for your mice_."

"Your mother is up," Snape continued. "I assume you'll be joining us shortly?"

Ah, Harry thought. That explains the relative civility. "Yeah, let me wash up."

Snape nodded, and with one final cool glance at Epione he retreated.

 _"Fodder for the talon-creatures,_ " Epione pronounced disdainfully as she made her way back to her small hole. " _If he imprisons you again, Warm Boy, I will bite both his ankles and watch him bleed_."

" _You can't. My Protector-Woman wishes him to remain in our nest. Alive_ ," he added as an afterthought.

Epione disappeared through the hole with a discontented hiss.

After washing up in the loo and combing his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it more presentable, Harry made his way back into the kitchen, trying his hardest to smooth the distaste and dread from his features.

His mother was already seated in her usual spot at the table, a cup of black coffee in her hands. She'd donned her favorite housecoat, a lovely cornflower-blue wrap that accentuated her hair and eyes. She grinned brilliantly at Harry when she saw him. "Breakfast looks lovely, Fawn," she complimented him. "Even Sev said he tips his hat to your skills."

Harry cast a small, forced smile at "Sev" in order to keep up the happy family pretense. "Well, I don't think I should quit Hogwarts for a Michelin-star restaurant just yet, but yeah, I didn't burn the toast." He plonked himself down on the side of the table, doing his best to ignore the gaze of the man seated across from him.

"Though I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed. I thought you promised me a full English breakfast last time? Hm?"

Harry felt a slight blush steal over his cheeks. "Oh yeah. I forgot. But you like omelets, yeah?"

Lily smiled indulgently at him over her coffee. "So, what have you two been up to while I was 'sawing logs', as Sev so charmingly puts it?"

Harry cast a reflexive glance at Snape, as if that could somehow aid them in getting their stories straight. "I visited a little with Epione," Harry offered. It wasn't a lie, certainly. And he wasn't about to casually admit to having a row with Snape.

"Ah, so _that_ is what you call that monstrosity," Snape mused. "An unusual name."

"Aesculapius' consort," Lily explained, naming the ancient Greek god known for his healing work with snakes. "Kind of an obscure reference, but fitting, I thought. A good reminder that it's not just evil that is associated with snakes. In fact, in a few years I was thinking of writing to the Magical Library of Alexandria to see if they have any tablets or scrolls on the lost art of Parselmagic…."

"Hmm," Snape mused, clearly disinterested. "Po— _Harry_ seemed to be having some difficulty reigning the creature in."

Lily rolled her eyes. "She could go for the throat and it wouldn't matter. You're daft if you believe I let my son play with venomous snakes without any precautions. The wards on the flat would vanish the poison before it could even enter your bloodstream. A few drops of essence of dittany and you'd be good to go."

Right, Harry thought. How had he forgotten about the wards? He should have just let Epione go for it. Oh well. Another day, perhaps.

"At least I've finally solved the mystery of your abundant boomslang skin stores," Snape said, at last cutting into his omelet. "I suppose you could make use of the venom as well, if Harry could convince her to cooperate."

Lily eyed Snape with mock-suspicion. "That's as far as you're going, though. You're not chopping that poor, sweet creature up for one of your experimental potions."

Snape snorted, a smirk curling over his lips. "I wouldn't dream of it. I haven't chopped up Longbottom's damnable toad yet, even though the stupid thing has practically hopped into a cauldron too many times to count. I certainly would do nothing of the sort to a noble serpent, my house's own symbol."

"I never understood the point of toads as familiars," Lily commented idly.

The conversation unraveled from there into pleasant banter—strangely enough—between Snape and Lily. Harry was content enough to listen only, focusing on his bacon and onion omelet. When his mother commented on his silence, Harry insisted it was just because he was still waking up and the caffeine from the tea had not yet hit him.

As usual, he and Snape surreptitiously ignored each other.

Once they'd all cleared their plates and magicked the dishes from the table, Snape turned to Lily. "So, what is on the agenda for today?"

Lily cast a glance over at Harry. "Well, I have some work to do on the Wolfsbane potion for Remus… Harry usually helps with that. You're more than welcome to join, but I understand if you'd rather keep yourself occupied elsewhere. Really, I don't know how you stand to brew at all on the weekends…."

Snape shook his head slightly to himself. "It's rather relaxing when there aren't gaggles of shrieking incompetents just _trying_ to make their cauldrons explode. I'd be pleased to assist. Even if the potion is for… Lupin."

Lily smacked Snape's arm lightly. She didn't like it when the man let his grudges and prejudices show, Harry knew, but she usually let him off far too lightly for Harry's liking. "Stop it. He never approved of the way James acted and you know it. It's silly of you to keep holding that against him. I don't hold your past against you, now, do I?"

Harry couldn't help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction at the twin spots of red that graced Snape's cheeks. Yes, his mother had played the ultimate trump card, the very one that Harry was not allowed to use lest the potions master rip his head off. Snape's so-called _dark past_. And whenever Lily even alluded to it, Snape would start to squirm like a guilty little schoolboy.

"I said I'd be happy to help," Snape muttered. "I've been following research into improving the formulation, actually. In Belgium they've started toying with a variation using powdered heliotrope, though the trials I've followed have been anything but promising. I've often thought that minute changes in the process might yield more tangible results. I've been considering taking it up as my next research project. If Lupin is amenable, he could act as a test subject after the alpha runs with the altered formulation have been cleared."

Lily lit up like a Christmas tree. "Truly? Have you nearly finished with your research into multi-purposed antidotes?"

Snape grimaced. "Finished is… not the word I would use. I've reached too many dead ends and, to put it simply, I feel it would be best to set that particular line of inquiry aside for the time being."

Harry listened to his mother and Snape talk potions, half-following their excited chatter about the Wolfsbane potion. He was plenty happy to help with the mundane tasks of prepping ingredients and everything, especially since the finished product was so important for his Uncle Remus, but the intricacies of the complex brew were way beyond him. And the second his mother and Snape started going on about the effect of lunar phases on the brewing process, and the effect of aconite petals versus stamen, Harry knew he'd ceased to exist to the two of them.

After a few minutes, he quietly retreated to the sofa and plucked the book he'd been casually reading— _An Ex-Auror's Guide to Real Defense Techniques_ —from the coffee table.

Eventually the highly-technical discussion seemed to come to a close, and Lily called once more to her son to invite him to rejoin the conversation.

When Harry had finally trudged back over, he saw that Snape looked as if he'd just bitten the head off a flobberworm. He was about to ask what had happened when his mother cut in.

"Harry, looks like we need to make a run to Diagon Alley for a few extra ingredients. I was going to suggest we go there anyway so you could practice some of the brews you've botched this year over the weekend; I have a list of the ones I was going to have you make. I thought you and I could go together, since Sev and I shouldn't be seen together in public, and I know you'd like to stop by some of the Quidditch shops. It would be a short outing, but what do you say?"

So Snape was jealous of this little bit of time he would get to spend with his mum. Well, Harry thought, he would just have to get over it.

"Sounds brilliant," he replied with a wide grin. "Are you sure Severus can't come though? I bet he'd love to browse through the apothecary."

Lily waved her hand dismissively. "We'll be in and out in a blink. It's not even worth the trouble of a disguise and all that. Besides, I'm sure Sev gets enough of the apothecaries with all the restocking he has to do as a potions master."

Harry pretended to look slightly disappointed. "Ah, well, guess we'll just have to find some other time for bonding, huh?"

His mother shot him a sly glance, and Harry nearly gulped, thinking he'd just about overdone it.

The sharp, reproving glare from Snape confirmed that suspicion.

"I mean, it'll be good if we're all working on the potion together," Harry continued hastily. "And it'll give me a chance to really watch a master at work. I might pick something really valuable up. Anyway, I should just get dressed and fetch my cloak and all…."

 _Before I stick my foot any further in my mouth_ , Harry thought.

Minutes later Harry was standing next to his mother, his arm looped in hers, preparing for Side-Along Apparition.

"We'll be quick," Lily promised Snape. "Harry knows I have no qualms about hexing him if he takes too long in the Quidditch shops." She jostled Harry playfully, casting him a warm smile.

"As long as we don't make a detour into Flourish and Blotts," Harry muttered, bumping his mother back. "Last time I thought I'd lost you."

Snape stood just a little too stiffly, his expression smooth and placid. "I'll get a start on the Wolfsbane," he offered, his eyes on Lily and Lily alone.

"Behave," Lily admonished teasingly, brandishing a finger at him. And with that they Disapparated.

Harry was glad that, over the years, he'd become mostly accustomed to the rather unpleasant sensation of Apparition. He'd Side-Alonged with his mother frequently enough that the queasiness and disorientation were never that severe. Still, it was his second least-favorite mode of wizard travel, outranked only by Portkeys. And the Floo was not far behind that, to be certain.

They arrived in the quiet little alley behind the odds and end shop that was designated for Apparition. Harry always wished that whoever was in charge of cleaning the streets in the alley would pay a bit more attention to this particular little nook, as it was often rubbish-filled and unpleasant. But as usual, his mother didn't linger there, instead striding briskly off toward their first destination.

Harry followed her, reveling in the slow, sweet sense of relief that was stealing over him. He could breathe again, he thought. No Snape lurking around the corners, trailing after him, spouting off threats and insults. He felt as if he could burst into song, but his mother might wonder a bit at that.

So he contented himself with grinning like a loon as he strode beside his mother.

The grin didn't last long, though. Because even when Severus Snape was absent, his specter just _had_ to haunt every conversation he had with his mother.

"So, did you get a chance to chat with your stepfather this morning?" Lily inquired casually as they made their way down the cobblestone street.

Harry fought to keep his muscles from twitching into an ugly expression. "Uh, yeah," he answered evasively. "But not much. You know how I am in the morning. Takes me a while to wake up—"

"Mm," Lily cut him off, casting him a knowing look. "I think I see what's going on here."

Harry swallowed nervously. "You—you do?"

Lily stopped and turned to her son, her green eyes alight with sympathy. She laid a hand on Harry's arm in a gesture of comfort. "There's no shame in being a little… anxious… around Sev. I know you see him mostly as your professor, and he cuts a scary figure, doesn't he?"

 _Scary_ , Harry thought bitterly. _I'm not five. He's a sarcastic arsehole. But sure, let's call him scary._

"And it must be hard to see him in another light," Lily continued blithely. "I know Sev's been struggling a bit too. This is all very new to him, and you may be his stepson, but he's still used to seeing you mostly as a student. And he has to keep a professional distance from his students. It's hard for him to drop that guard…."

They'd reached Slug and Jiggers apothecary, Harry realized, desperate for some sort of distraction. He didn't think he could make it through this little lecture without rolling his eyes at least once. He wondered what potions his mother planned for him to redo… and how she and good old "Sev" would react once he proved he was perfectly competent in the subject.

"Harry." Lily's hand tightened on his arm, drawing his full attention back to her. He met her eyes, and there was a deep sorrow there that surprised him. "Sev hasn't had an easy life. It's not my place to say… but it's really difficult for him to open up. You need to understand that. If he comes across as cold or distant or, Merlin knows, plain mean, it's not because he wants to hurt you or keep you at arm's length. It's a protective instinct that he had to learn… and he'd bite my head off for telling you even this much, I promise you. You just have to give him a chance, and hard as it might be, ignore his barbs. I know he throws them around liberally….

"I'm babbling. Listen, Fawn, all I'm asking is that you keep an open mind and really give him a chance to open up to you. Maybe even think about taking the first step. Ask him for help with your Potions homework, or his advice on your course load for the next year—or see if he'll practice dueling with you. Something like that. Will you consider it?"

A host of acerbic responses bubbled to mind at his mother's absurd request. Ask advice on his homework? _Quit while you're behind, Potter, and save your mother the embarrassment._ Or for class suggestions? _Well, I'm certain your performance will be equally abominable in whatever subjects you choose. Care of Magical Creatures, perhaps, so that you will fully understand the implications of the mark "Troll". Maybe Divination, so that your failure will at least be foreseen?_ Or Merlin forbid, dueling. The man would love the excuse to hex him into a puddle. Or worse, he would use the occasion for a tragic and embarrassing "accident" that left Harry with some unsightly permanent disfigurement.

But with his mother's pleading eyes boring into him, Harry could scarcely bring himself to deny her. "I'll try," Harry mumbled.

Lily flashed her winning smile at Harry. "Thank you, love." She raised a hand to his cheek and touched it briefly.

Harry leaned into it instinctively, focusing all his energy on that little gesture. This was why he was putting up with Snape, he reminded himself. Because his mother needed it. Because it made her happy. And tolerating one miserable old bastard was a small price to pay for that happiness.

"I'll see to the ingredients," Lily said at last. "Why don't you go browse the shops, and meet me in a half an hour at Fortescue's?"

Harry grinned cheekily. "Ice cream in the morning, and without Severus? Mum, we shouldn't."

Lily waved off his mocking protests. "Sev doesn't have much of a sweet tooth. Besides, what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"And now we're keeping secrets?" Harry teased in a tone of mock-outrage.

"Hmm, perhaps we should mention it," Lily conceded, her eyes sparkling. "Honesty is the best policy."

Those words struck at something in Harry. He hated lying to his mother like this. He hated this elaborate charade; he hated constantly worrying that one word or gesture or expression would let something slip, and then the ruse would unravel.

But he wouldn't put another burden on her shoulders. He wouldn't give her cause to quarrel with Severus. She didn't need that, not now and not ever.

And loath as he was to admit it, Severus was good to her. He would never hurt Lily; he treated her well, and he would do anything for her. Hell, the man practically lived for her; as much as Harry hated the man, he certainly recognized the worshipful expression the man wore whenever he gazed at Lily. Yes, the man would do anything for his dear, precious Lily.

Well, anything except curb his vitriol for her son.

"Be safe," his mother told him, drawing Harry out of his reverie.

Harry tried to shake off his dark thoughts by rolling his eyes. "I'm going down the street, not across the country, Mum."

"You have a habit of attracting trouble," his mother muttered, "or going looking for it. So no running after basilisks or three-headed dogs—"

"Or baby dragons," Harry added.

"So help me Merlin," his mother muttered, "if I catch you doing anything that dangerous again…."

"You'll transfigure me into a teapot and keep me in your china cabinet for the next ten years," Harry finished for her, familiar with the threat.

"Watch your cheek, young man, or you'll be a particularly floral teapot."

They parted ways after that.

Harry tried to lose himself by visiting the three most prominent Quidditch shops, but even drooling over the model Firebolt in the window wasn't enough to keep his dismal thoughts from nearly overwhelming him.

He thought back to Snape's behavior that morning. It was as if the man was trying to sabotage himself. Harry wondered if he even realized how awful he was behaving, or if he was simply so entrenched in his hatred of his stepson that he didn't realize that Lily would throw him out on his arse if she ever discovered the full truth.

And that invitation to have a cup of tea! What had the man been playing at? After he'd badgered and insulted Harry, and Harry had done an admirable job of keeping his tongue in check (if he did say so himself), he had the nerve to insist that Harry join him at the table. As if the man had suddenly changed his mind and decided he would be civil! As if Harry would willingly prolong his exposure to the man's toxic presence!

He could imagine how that would have gone. _Merlin, Potter, you slurp tea like that great slobbering beast Hagrid keeps around. And slouching? Is the Great Harry Potter too good to exhibit halfway decent manners at his own breakfast table? But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised after the sloppy technique you employed while cooking our breakfast. Certainly a deranged house elf could have done better. Your mother must hold her tongue each weekend to spare your feelings._

Well. He could avoid the man as much as possible and spare himself all that. He would help his mum brew for a bit, and then he would hide from the two of them for the rest of the day behind his textbooks. Maybe he would write Ron and Hermione, or find Epione again and talk with her. Sometimes she would slip outside and roam—discretely, of course—around London, which meant that she occasionally had interesting adventures to share with Harry. There was also the possibility of working to strengthen their magical bond. A rare text Lily had acquired described the possibility of Parselmouths sharing minds with their serpent familiars. Harry knew he was far from being able to do that with Epione, but he did want to put in the work to eventually reach that state of harmony.

One thing was certain. He wasn't going to talk to Snape any more than he actually had to.

After a little half-hearted Quidditch banter with the shopkeeper at Quality Quidditch Supplies (the wiry, dark-haired wizard was adamant that the Holyhead Harpies were headed for the Cup this year), Harry took his leave and set off toward Fortescue's.

Lily was already waiting for him, seated at their usual table. She'd already taken the liberty of ordering, too; Harry spied the heaping dish of his favorite peppermint ice cream settled before his seat, presumably under a Cooling Charm.

"See anything you like?" Lily asked as Harry settled into his seat.

Harry shrugged indifferently. "The new Firebolt, but I'm pretty sure I'd have to save up my allowance for a good, oh, three decades before I could even think about buying it. I think my Cleansweep will have to do for now."

"Christmas is coming up," Lily murmured vaguely before spooning a generous scoop of whipped cream into her mouth.

Harry snorted. "I think I'd have to agree to skip the next ten Christmases to justify you spending that much on me."

"We'll see," Lily hummed. "Maybe if you manage to get your potions mark up…."

 _Not likely_ , Harry thought. _I could qualify for my Mastership and Snape would still find some reason to fail me._ But he didn't voice his skepticism, instead choosing to flash his mother a tight smile.

"I'm really trying, honest. I let Hermione go through my last essay like six times. I think even Sn—Severus was impressed by the quality. Though you know he doesn't let on to that sort of stuff."

"I'm sure it'll get easier," his mother told him soothingly. "I see how you brew at home, Harry, and frankly it surprises me that you have so much trouble in that class. I know Severus is hard on his students and that he has high standards, but still, I have to think that the problem is nerves more than anything. I'm sure that once things have settled and you're a little more comfortable with your stepfather"—Harry suppressed a violent shudder—"you'll be at the top of the class."

"Harry!"

Harry whipped around, the voice catching him by surprise.

Neville Longbottom was flagging him down from the opposite side of the street. The boy crossed unthinkingly, nearly getting himself run down in the process. But Neville seemed completely oblivious to the stout, bearded wizard in green robes that he'd nearly bowled over in his excitement—though the wizard seemed less oblivious, as he appeared to be muttering curses after the boy.

"Hiya Neville," Harry greeted the boy, letting his surprised tone stand in for the unasked question.

"Gran had some errands to run this weekend, and Uncle Algie's down with some sort of pox, so she asked for special permission from McGonagall for me to accompany her," Neville explained breathlessly. "She's at Madame Malkin's right now, said I'm to meet her in an hour or so." The boy's gaze switched to Lily. "Hullo, Mrs. Potter," he greeted her politely, just a touch of his characteristic timidity creeping back into his voice. "Good to see you out with Harry."

"Neville," Lily greeted the boy gently. "Mrs. Potter was my mother-in-law, you know. It's just Lily."

Neville blushed a fierce red. Then he muttered very quickly, his words running together, "I'm glad Harry's not in trouble 'cause it was really my fault and Snape's too I guess."

Harry's eyes snapped back to his mother as alarm bells sounded in his head. What in the hell was Neville doing?

"What was your fault?" Lily asked in that same gentle tone, though Harry was not fooled. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Nothing," Harry began, but Neville was too eager to explain his role in last week's potions disaster.

"Well, I—I guess Harry probably told you about when we were making the Solution of Clarity…." His nervous eyes flickered to Harry, as if he were only realizing just now that he'd really stepped in it. "Even if he didn't, though, it really wasn't his fault at all—"

"Neville, it's all right, I already told her everything," Harry cut in swiftly.

Lily wasn't fooled, though. Her eyes flashed dangerously, a look that caused Harry to gulp reflexively. She grasped Harry's shoulder firmly in her hand and fixed Neville with a no-nonsense glare that would give McGonagall a run for her money.

"How was it your fault, Neville?" she inquired evenly, the tension in her fingers belying her controlled tone. "And Professor Snape's, you said?"

"I said it was Snape's fault," Harry tried, hoping he wasn't coming across as too desperate. "Mum, you know how it is… I was embarrassed, and I didn't want to take responsibility—"

"Harry, let your friend answer my question." Lily's hand tightened in warning.

Neville seemed a little confused, and was growing more nervous by the second, especially under Lily's intense scrutiny. "Well… Harry had almost finished his potion when Snape called him away from it. And Harry tried to tell him that he had to watch it closely, because the end part's really critical, and that it wasn't a good time, but Snape didn't listen, and he wouldn't even have someone good at potions keep an eye on it. Harry asked if Hermione could watch it for him, but he said no and made me do it, and I… well, I'm not very good, and I swear I looked away for just a second, but I think I was supposed to be stirring it… and it turned to sludge. So it was really my fault that Harry got a zero. I was so worried that you'd be really upset with him, see, because I know how Gran gets when I miss a grade like that—though she kind of expects it in potions now…."

Harry sensed his mother's breathing changing as Neville babbled on, hapless and clueless as always. That, and the near-painful grip on his shoulder had him spiraling into panic.

She would blame Snape now. She would accuse him of being awful to Harry, and they would have a huge row, and then…. Well, Lily had already forgiven the man once. Two betrayals was too much. She would cut him out of her life, and then she would be miserable and wounded….

 _No, Harry, get a grip_ , he ordered himself. Neville hadn't said anything too awful yet. He'd basically assumed responsibility. Maybe Lily would think that Snape had been negligent or a bit too cruel, but it was nothing condemning. So as long as Neville didn't say anything else.

"Neville, what did Professor Snape want to ask Harry?" Lily demanded.

Harry tried to communicate with his wide, alarmed eyes that Neville should just stop talking or feign ignorance. He even shook his head a little, as much as he thought he could with his mum standing right next to him.

But Neville was as oblivious as ever. "Oh, he was awful. He—"

"Shut your bloody mouth, Neville!" Harry hissed before he could stop himself.

"Harry James Potter!" Lily snapped, clearly appalled. Her brow crashed down in a thunderous scowl. Not only could she give McGonagall a run for her money, Harry thought, but she might be able to rival Snape's bone-chilling expressions too. "You do not _speak_ like that! Apologize to Neville this instant!"

Harry knew his cheeks had to be a nice crimson by that point. He was fairly certain that a few nearby families had heard his mother's scolding. Not that a little public humiliation was too big a price to pay if he'd achieved his goal of keeping Neville from saying too much more and ruining everything.

"Sorry, Neville," he mumbled, staring down at his shoes. "I'm just still embarrassed about it, okay?"

Lily ignored that statement completely though. She continued her line of questioning with all the focus of an Auror nearing the end of a case. "He was awful?" she prompted.

"Mum—"

"Not another word, Harry," Lily hissed in her fiercest _you are in so much trouble_ voice. "Not a single word, do you hear me?"

And it was then that Harry knew all hope was lost. She'd scented that something was amiss. Of course she had. His mum was brilliant. It was a miracle she hadn't figured it all out sooner.

So Harry nodded dejectedly and chose to stare at his trainers.

"Mrs. Potter—"

"Neville, this is very important. Please answer me. What did Professor Snape need to say to Harry?"

"He accused him of cheating," Neville informed her in a tone of protest, as if news of Snape's gross unfairness would somehow get Harry out of whatever trouble he was currently in. "With no proof or anything! He made him just stand there while his potion was getting ruined while he looked for Harry's essay, and then he said it was just too good to be Harry's. And Harry tried to tell him that he'd worked really hard so he could get his grade up, but he wouldn't listen. It was awful. He basically called him an idiot in front of the whole class. Really, Mrs. Potter, you have to believe me, Snape's got it in for Harry. It's just like all those other times when he 'accidentally' knocked something into Harry's cauldron, or hovered over Harry criticizing him until he made a mistake. I tried to tell Professor Dumbledore about it, but I don't think anything really happened—"

"Thank you, Neville," Lily cut the boy off.

Neville puffed up a little, indignant. "It's true!" he insisted. "You can ask Professor Dumbledore. And then I heard that Professor Snape hunted Harry down just to yell at him and give him a detention for no reason. Some of the lower forms from Hufflepuff got upset about that and talked to Dumbledore too—"

"Neville," Lily interrupted the boy again, though now her tone was solicitous and soothing. "I believe you, trust me. I am… _disappointed_ "—the sharpness of that single word let Harry know that _disappointed_ wasn't the half of it—"that Harry couldn't tell me about all this himself. But I'm grateful that you did, and believe me, I will be rectifying the situation. I think a parent-teacher conference is in order." Those last words were uttered like a death threat.

Harry cringed.

And Neville sagged with relief, his eyes shining. "Good. Because I hate seeing Harry get into so much trouble for no reason. And when Professor Dumbledore wouldn't do anything, well…." He flashed a hesitant smile at Harry.

Harry couldn't return the gesture. He still felt too numb. Oh, his mum was furious with Snape, that he could tell. But some of that fury was reserved for him, for his lies and deceit. Harry lifted a hand to his stomach, afraid that his ice cream was about to make a second appearance for as much as his stomach was churning.

"You're a good friend, Neville," Lily reassured the boy, even as she moved to secure Harry's arm in a borderline painful grip. "I'm sorry to run out on you like this, but Harry and I have some business to attend to. But Harry will see you after the weekend, all right?"

Neville's eyes had never left Harry, and apparently whatever he saw there upset him, because his tentative smile had collapsed into a look of deep concern. "Yeah," he agreed. "See you Monday, Harry." The words rang out like a question.

"Yeah, see you Monday," Harry mumbled faintly.

And then Lily had dragged him off to a secluded little alleyway and cast a Silencing Charm before turning her blazing green eyes on him.

"How long?" she demanded curtly.

Harry decided to feign ignorance. "Mum, I don't know—"

Lily dropped her voice to a deadly whisper that raised every hair on Harry's head. "Harry James Potter, you will answer me clearly and honestly this instant. You are already in over your head, but don't be foolish enough to believe that you can't dig yourself in any deeper. How long has Severus been treating you like this?"

Harry couldn't meet her eyes. Instead he studied the pattern of bricks on the side of the building. "I… I dunno. A while—"

" _How long_?"

Harry flinched. "Since the beginning," he confessed, knowing that there was nothing for it. "But it's not so bad, Mum, honest. You're overreacting—"

"I have been a blind fool, and I will make no excuses for myself," Lily began heavily, "but if you _dare_ to dissemble or make excuses or, Merlin forbid, try to downplay the severity of this, you will be permanently benched from Quidditch and you will not see your broom again until you are of age. I expect the raw, unvarnished truth. Is that much clear?"

Harry swallowed thickly. It was over, he thought miserably. There was nothing more he could do. Continuing to lie now would just make things worse. It would just damage his relationship with his mum, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

"I understand."

"He acts differently when I'm not around?" The words were hard and clipped.

Harry nodded into the ground.

"How?"

Harry flexed his hands nervously, wondering how much his mum expected him to say. "He insults me a lot. He doesn't bother trying to hide how much he hates me."

"Has he hit you? Or threatened to?"

Harry felt his cheeks burn slightly hotter as the man's promise of corporal punishment came floating back to him. "He hasn't, and no—just… he threatens to punish me normally. Like, detentions or lines… or… you know, now that he's my stepfather and can…."

"Did he say what he would do if you came to me with your concerns?"

"He didn't blackmail me!" Harry protested, even though he knew that was at least partially untrue, especially given yesterday evening's pleasant little "chat". Thought Snape had only promised retribution if Harry had tried to "poison Lily against him", which could easily have been construed as Harry telling lies about Snape, not merely telling her his side of things.

A stolen glance up at Lily showed Harry that she was unconvinced.

"Honest! He didn't need to, Mum, because I didn't want you to know. He didn't have to threaten me at all. I don't think he even realizes how bad he's been."

Lily heaved a long sigh, but she didn't press the issue any further. "You lied to me about him making an effort to reassure you and support you. In fact, you've lied about a lot of things concerning Severus. Why, Harry? Why on earth…?"

Tears pricked at his eyes. Almost three years of abuse, he thought bitterly, and for what? Snape wouldn't appreciate in the least what Harry had tried to do for him. Well, not for him, _per se_ , but his actions had benefited Snape for sure. And now it was all going to unravel, because Neville couldn't keep his mouth shut. Well, that, and because Snape was an arse who couldn't refrain from bullying and belittling Harry.

"He's good for you," Harry mumbled. "He's awful to me, but… but he'd do anything for you. And after everything… Mum, I knew you'd want nothing to do with him if you knew how he really treated me. But you need him. I hate it, and I hate that it's _him_ , but he makes you happy. And after everything…." Harry's throat felt almost too tight to continue. He swallowed past the awful lump that was forming there, and pressed on, "I just want you to be happy. I didn't mind putting up with him if that was what it took."

His mum looked torn between sorrow and anger and love for Harry. And that combination just caused the lump to swell painfully, silencing him as surely as a spell.

"Harry," Lily muttered, and shook her head slowly. "Harry, I am the parent, you are the child. It is not up to you to decide what is best for me. And if Severus could treat you like that, he is not the man I thought he was—"

"No!" Harry cried, his voice harsh with panic. "It's not that bad—honest, he's just kind of mean most of the time. What happened last week was big. And I don't think he thought I could even brew the potion, so it's not like he was trying to deliberately sabotage it."

"Should I ask your friends, Harry? Better yet, should I floo call the headmaster and hear his opinion on things?" Lily's sharp, prickly tone tore through Harry. She knew. She didn't have to hear all the gory details of how Snape had been acting; she could piece it together on her own.

"No," he mumbled.

Lily drew a deep, deliberate breath. "I appreciate your concern for me, I truly do. But it is not your place to decide who should and shouldn't be in my life. You lied to me—deliberately, brazenly, and not just once but multiple times. You didn't give me a chance to see how Severus was treating you and make a decision based on what was best for _you_ —and that is my privilege as a parent, Harry.

"I know you were trying to do what was best for me, but the fact remains that you deliberately and repeatedly _violated my trust_." As Lily spoke, her voice gradually regained its volume, its intensity, and its furious edge. "If you can lie to me so casually about this, how can I have faith in anything you say? How can I possibly know that you won't decide to omit or alter all kinds of important things because _you_ , my _child_ , think it's for the best?"

Harry knew he couldn't have answered, even if it hadn't been a rhetorical question. Lily's all-too-judicious scolding was driving him to misery. All his pride and self-righteous anger for his stoicism in face of Snape's attacks was quickly turning to self-loathing. Because his mum was right; how dare he treat her like a child? And how dare he break that sacred bond they'd shared for so many years?

The promise of no lies, not ever, not about anything, had bound them together through the hardest years of their lives. When Harry had been just seven, Lily had been released from St. Mungo's, and it had been then that she'd made that vow. She promised to tell Harry when she was hurting or sad so that Harry could try to help. And Harry promised to do the same.

His mum had been the only person in the world with whom he could be completely honest, and whom he knew would be honest in turn. Even when the news was less than pleasant, or when other parents might have deemed it inappropriate for their children. She'd told him about Remus' lycanthropy, and the awful "friend" who'd gotten Harry's father killed and who was still rotting in Azkaban. She'd told him about Snape's less-than-saintly past, and the Mark branded on his forearm, the one that Harry was never to mention or ask about directly. Lies were walls, his mother had told him, and they couldn't afford to have any walls between them.

And now Harry could see what he'd done. He'd thrown that all away. He'd built walls to keep his mother from the truth because he thought it was too unpleasant. He'd hurt her, and deeply. Oh, he hadn't meant to. He'd only wanted to protect her. But he'd done just the opposite.

And now he could feel the creeping fear in his gut as he wondered if he could ever get that trust back. If things would ever be the same between them again.

Lily left him in silence for a few seconds before shaking her head to herself. "We will discuss this later. I think it's high time that we headed home now, though." Lily drew him close.

Harry turned into his mother's side as they Apparated, hiding his face, hoping that she wouldn't notice the thick tears that were rolling down his cheeks.


	4. Chapter 4

Severus slammed the door to the flat's laboratory a little harder than he'd intended. It wasn't that he was angry, or particularly upset….

He was nervous. That was it. The base of the Wolfsbane was simmering, but there would be more work to be done that afternoon, after Lily and Potter returned from Diagon Alley. And that meant that the three of them would be spending a prolonged amount of time in each other's company.

He couldn't send Potter away, or argue that the boy was incompetent. He'd likely been assisting Lily for years, and if it was just ingredient prep, there was very little hazard of having him in the lab. Which meant that Severus would have to tolerate his presence, and find a way to be civil—no, he reminded himself. Civil would not do, not now. If he wanted to undo the damage he'd done, he would have to do much better than merely _civil_.

It had been nearly an hour and a half since the two had departed for their excursion, and in that time, in addition to beginning the Wolfsbane potion, Severus had done a great deal of brooding. And he'd come to a few conclusions.

He had behaved like an ass this morning, and Potter had endured that behavior with astonishing good grace. In fact, his behavior over the course of the past few weeks had been wholly inexcusable. An admonishment and a veiled threat from Albus Dumbledore, the kindest and least severe Headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen, should have been enough of a red flag.

But no, Severus had shrugged that off and foolishly plodded on, choosing instead to alienate the boy even further for no reason other than he looked like James Potter, and some primal, underdeveloped part of Severus' brain saw him as a rival for Lily's attention and affection.

And if that hadn't been enough, the boy he'd so thoroughly mistreated had done him the kindness of lying and covering for him, no doubt believing that Snape would eventually come to his senses. Yes, because the boy cared for his mother, and the only reason the brazen, noble Harry Potter would willingly lie to her and subject himself to humiliation would be to protect her. To stop her, in other words, from seeing that the man she'd chosen to marry had a vicious streak a mile wide and was utterly incapable of keeping his baser tendencies in check.

Potter had been afraid that Severus was going to _ruin it_. Those mysterious words from breakfast had lingered with him, tormenting him, until he'd come to the stunning conclusion that Potter could only possibly _want_ his hated Potions Professor to remain with his mother. _I gave you both my blessing_ …. No, Potter hadn't been trying to stand in his way. He had been trying to save Severus from himself, for Lily's sake.

 _And now_? he thought bitterly. How did he move on from here? What could he possibly do? How did one accept an olive branch, provided that it was not already too late? It would have to be something significant, something that would signal that Severus wanted to have more than just a _civil_ relationship. Damn it, he owed the boy an apology, a real apology, but his insufferable pride would not allow him to simply come out and say it. He could already picture Potter's smug face, the nasty little smirk that would curl his lips, the satisfaction that would glow in his eyes at having finally brought his professor low enough to have to issue an apology…..

No, he reminded himself, this was not about being brought low or being humiliated. Potter— _Harry_ —was not James. This was about setting things to rights, and about getting to a point where he could develop a real rapport with his stepson. For Lily's sake.

Because if Potter could suffer silently for his mother, then Severus could certainly make a few friendly overtures toward the boy in order to mend things between them. He'd been selfish, thinking that he could continue to indulge his vindictiveness while courting Lily, let alone after their marriage. No, he would show the woman he loved that he could be a decent father to her child.

He heard the telltale crack of Apparition. And with his new conviction blazing in his chest, Severus strode confidently toward the kitchen to face Lily and Harry.

"Go to your room," he heard Lily instruct, her tone unusually frosty.

Severus' skin prickled at the unusual sharpness of her voice. What in the hells had Potter done? Surely the boy couldn't have found mischief during such a short outing.

"Mum, please, just—"

"Now!" Lily bit out, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Don't be too hasty," Potter pleaded.

Severus peered into the kitchen, a little wary of interrupting the two. Potter, he saw, was nearly cowering before Lily, his eyes slightly red, his whole body screaming dejection.

And Lily. Merlin, she was in a fury the likes of which he'd not seen since…. Well, he certainly did not like remembering that day for a multitude of reasons. But the worst part of that memory had been the fire blazing in Lily Evans' eyes as she'd regarded him, that foul word still ringing in the air. Pain, anger, betrayal… and those brilliant green eyes had pierced him to his very soul, carrying Lily's hurt straight into him, like heat transferred through metal.

And Potter had somehow managed to draw that unbearable expression out of his mother, the worthless little whelp. What he could have possibly done….

"Harry James Potter, you will stay out of this! You have interfered quite enough already. Now, to your room, before I decide to levitate you there!"

Severus watched with a modicum of satisfaction as the boy flushed to the tips of his ears and meekly trotted out of the kitchen, past Severus. The boy spared him a brief glance, and the tangle of emotions Severus saw on the boy's face unnerved him. Raw fear, mostly—but of Lily? Surely not. Shame, regret, loathing—yes, that last one was for him, certainly.

Now he was curious, and if he was being honest with himself, a touch apprehensive, considering that there was now a _thing_ that Potter had meddled in, something that he and Lily would likely have to manage. Perhaps Potter had finally slipped, as Severus knew he would, and revealed too much of the relationship between his Potions professor and his mother. Hopefully it was something that could be contained with a few owled letters, maybe an appeal to Albus' considerable influence.

"Severus."

Severus' heart froze in his chest, mostly from the ice in Lily's tone. But too from the instant realization of what Potter had meddled in. Or rather, simply what Potter had hidden from his mother. Severus' awful, inexcusable behavior, the very behavior he'd just vowed to fix.

Yes, he thought, he was too late. He could see it in the woman's eyes. That expression had not been for Potter, oh no, it was all for him. Again.

"Lily." Her name escaped as barely a whisper. "How was your outing?"

"Rather informative." Lily folded her arms over her chest, her eyes glinting like stone-cold emeralds. "You'll never guess who we ran into."

"Lily, I—"

Lily's nostrils flared as soon as Severus opened his mouth, and that was enough for him to swallow the remains of whatever petty excuse he'd been in the middle of stringing together.

"Neville Longbottom, Severus. And he had the strangest tale. He ran over to Harry feeling he just _had_ to apologize for what had occurred in your class. Isn't that strange? That Neville Longbottom would feel guilty somehow for _my_ son's failings? Unless, of course, there is more to the story than just Harry's incompetence. Is there, Professor?"

Severus winced back from his title, the single word dripping with so much venom that it burned through him. He didn't know what to say. Hadn't he drawn the independent conclusion that there was no excuse? "I didn't handle things as I should have—"

"The understatement of the century. Congratulations, Severus, your cowardice knows no bounds."

Those words cut so deep. Severus clenched his hands hard in an effort to maintain control of himself, even though he was just inches away from throwing himself at Lily's feet and begging her forgiveness.

Lily continued on, her words rising in volume as she spoke. "To think that Albus got involved—that it came to that point. Did you think that I wouldn't eventually find out? That Harry would just keep his mouth shut and his head down for the rest of his life? That I would never run into anyone from Hogwarts who would mention just how much of an absolute ogre you've been?"

"I'm sorry—"

"Oh, are you?" Lily snorted, her lips thinning even further. She stalked forward, unintimidated by Severus' height, and positioned herself so that she was glaring up at him, just inches from his chest. "For what, I wonder? For mercilessly torturing my son for—well, how many years has it been? All the while he said nothing to me, not one complaint, not one hint of what you were putting him through, because he thought you were _good for me_." Lily's voice broke on those last words, and she abruptly whipped away and stalked over to the kitchen window.

"I…." Severus swallowed several times, desperately trying to get his tongue working, even as his brain searched for the nonexistent words that might mend this.

"He was a child. He still _is_ a child. And I… Merlin, I've failed him…." Those words she whispered angrily to himself. "I should have known. I felt something was off, but no, I was too self-absorbed to think—and too willing to see the best in you. I thought he was just shy, just intimidated. What an absolute fool I've been. He'll never forgive me. He _shouldn't_ forgive me for this, for what I've put him through—"

"Lily, it was my fault," Severus choked out. "All me. I was petty and vicious, and there is no excuse for what I did, but you didn't—"

"Oh, what you _did_." The fury came rushing back into her voice. Her posture tightened, her spine straightened, and she pivoted back to face him once again, that pain and anger drowning her eyes. "I don't know the half of it. It was pulling teeth just to get Harry to admit to any of it! He was making excuses for you up until the very end, and if I dragged him back out here, he would still make excuses. Because I'm such a terrible parent that he believes that he has to look after me, that it's his duty to make sacrifices for my happiness. And why would he believe any differently, when I was stupid enough to _marry_ someone cruel enough to exorcise old, festering grudges on an innocent child.

"No, I don't know the half of what passed between you, but I will, mark my words. And even now I can guess well enough from what Neville said…."

"Lily," Severus rasped desperately. He longed to wrap her in an embrace, to do anything that might offer her some comfort. She was so angry, and so deeply distressed. But he knew that his arms would not be welcome at all, and he'd likely end up hexed to pieces if he tried to reassure her now. "I know—I've been trying to… I'm a weak man—"

"Yes, you are," Lily cut him off, her tone glacial. "I think you'd best leave, Severus, before I do something stupid."

Severus winced. "I truly am sorry," he whispered. "So very sorry. If you would just give me a chance—"

"Another chance?" she hissed. "How many do you think you get? I thought you'd grown up when you came back to me, you know. I thought for certain that you'd left all that spite behind you... You know, the worst of it, Severus, is that I might have been able to forgive you for hurting me. But for hurting Harry?" She shook her head slowly in disgust. "My son? My child? No. I don't think you're even sorry for that. You're sorry that you've upset me. But you don't give a shrivelfig for what you've done to my boy, do you? Merlin, if I didn't object, if I didn't know, you'd continue to torture him for the high crime of resembling his father, wouldn't you?"

Severus tried to shake his head, tried to deny it, but he did not have that conviction himself. Did he care about Potter's feelings? Was he truly such a monster that he was unbothered by the misery and suffering he'd inflicted?

"Go home, Severus," she repeated, her chilled tone leaving no room for argument. "And expect me sometime next week, Professor, to discuss your treatment of my son."

"I can do better," Severus protested weakly, but the rest of his argument died on his lips as he watched Lily slowly twist her wedding band from her finger, followed by the engagement ring he'd given her. And quite suddenly the pain in his chest rose to a point that he couldn't breathe.

She set both on the kitchen table. "Please do me the courtesy of leaving my home." And with that she stormed off to her study, slamming the door behind her.

Severus stared after her in shock for a few moments, his heart hammering painfully against his ribcage. His eyes stayed locked on those twin bands lying abandoned on the kitchen counter. So it was over, just like that. He'd lost her again. And this time there would be no chance for late night apologies, no standing outside the Gryffindor common room pleading for her to just hear him out. No notes sent fluttering to her discreetly in their joint classes. No tentative attempts at conversation in Slughorn's class, where they were forced to share a cauldron.

Oh, he would see her again next week, but in a professional capacity. And knowing Lily, it would be with the Headmaster at her side, and only to discuss appropriate consequences for his gross misconduct. He would prefer never seeing her again to having to enduring interacting with her with all those walls in place.

His eyes strayed unwillingly toward Potter's door, Lily's accusations still ringing in his mind. Did he care about the boy? Well, Potter had certainly risked his neck for him. Lily was not happy that he'd lied to her. And… yes, he had to face it now. No more justifications. His behavior had been unquestionably juvenile. And Potter had suffered because of it.

All in all, the boy had held up well. It was surprising that he hadn't retaliated. Had their positions been reversed…. Well, Severus knew he would have cooked up at least a half a dozen nasty revenge plots by now. Severus had to respect the boy's restraint.

But did he feel anything for the boy? There had certainly been enough guilty twinges over the years. But did those twinges amount to anything?

The seconds were ticking by too quickly, and Severus knew that he had to leave. He would not upset Lily further by lingering, by causing a scene on top of everything else.

Numbly, Severus straightened his robes and forced himself over to the floo, step after unpleasant step. He had the strangest sentimental impulse to look back and memorize the place, especially that warm kitchen. He knew he would not be coming back here again.

But those rings in the kitchen…. Just knowing they were there, scorning him, was too much. He couldn't bring himself to take that final look.

So he faced the mantel, trying to hold himself up but feeling as brittle as singed parchment. He took the necessary pinch of floo powder from the chipped floral teacup Lily kept on hand, threw it down, and stated, "Severus Snape's quarters, Hogwarts" as firmly as he could muster.

A roar of green later and he was back in his sitting room, overwhelmed by the emptiness of the place. He took two steps before collapsing bonelessly onto the couch, his chest already shaking faintly with the beginnings of wrenching sobs.

Ruined. Just as Potter had predicted. Not by the boy's hand, even, though it would have been so easy for the boy to ruin everything. Ruined by his own excess, by his own carelessness.

Severus drew his wand and waved it wearily at his liquor cabinet, summoning forth a bottle of long-neglected brandy (a gift from Albus many Christmases ago) and a glass tumbler. It was a good a time as any, he decided, to take up day-drinking.

Lily would never speak to him again, not really. Certainly not when he couldn't even bring himself to feel the slightest sympathy for what he'd put her son through. And without her… well, what did he really have? A thankless teaching post? An aging, nearly senile, and wholly insufferable Headmaster who likely would see poetic justice in this turn of events? A stern, sharp-tongued Gryffindor colleague who only tolerated his presence so that she could engage in Quidditch trash-talking? A handful of other distant acquaintances?

Oh, yes, not to mention a whole host of Death Eaters in hiding, some of whom wanted to crucify him for his traitorous spying in the last war. And certainly dear old Lucius, who was forever and a day trying to maneuver Severus into his confidences. Yes, Lucius was intent on dragging Severus under his wing so that the potions master might be put to better use as an instrument of Malfoy influence at Hogwarts.

A rich social life he led indeed. At this rate, he would have to order a house elf into his presence if he wanted even a moderately sympathetic ear.

Severus caught the levitating bottle of brandy and sloshed a rather generous amount into his glass. A tumbler, he realized too slowly. Why in the bloody hell had he summoned a tumbler for brandy? Wholly inappropriate. If he was about to drink himself into oblivion, he would do it properly. With a twisted, ugly smile, he tapped his wand to the tumbler and transfigured it into a more appropriate snifter. Yes, that was much better.

Straightening marginally, Severus managed to draw himself up a little. He raised his snifter in a mocking toast, sloshing brandy onto his hand in the process. "To my own cowardice, vice, and colossal stupidity," he announced to the empty room, before downing the entire glass.

And with that pronouncement something within him, the divider that had kept all of his less savory emotions at bay, dissolved entirely. Shame and remorse flooded him, and he was surprised to find that not all of it was attached to Lily. Potter was in there too, all his hateful glares, the look on his face when Severus had accused him of plagiarism, the abnormal whiteness of his visage when threatened with corporal punishment….

Snape barked out a bitter laugh and set to refilling his snifter. He was human enough to feel remorse, he thought. Oh, that didn't make him any less of a monster, but it sure didn't do a damned thing for him either. Lily wouldn't let him speak to her son, and he couldn't see Potter willingly sticking around for a friendly chat after his potions class. The boy had no reason to tolerate his presence now. So Severus would never get the opportunity to properly apologize.

He would write a letter, he decided, even as he downed his second glass of brandy. This one stung far less than the last, though it still burned unpleasantly all down his throat and in his gut. Nothing a few more glasses would not fix, of course.

Yes, he would write a nice, long letter, and maybe Potter would forgive him. And if Lily's son forgave him….

He laughed at himself, the sound dangerously close to turning into a harsh sob. If Potter forgave him… about as likely as the Cannons taking the Cup. And even if, by some miracle, the boy was magnanimous enough to see that Snape _was_ sorry, that wasn't going to be enough to budge Lily one inch.

Oh, he might have a chance left with the younger Potter, but he'd already used up all of Lily's good will. The most he could hope for now was an eventual thawing of relations and perhaps civility. There would be no crawling back into her good graces, not this time.

So. A letter. Maybe he could at least assuage a part of his guilty conscience, and salvage a shred of his soul in the process.

XXXXX

Harry heard the rush of the floo, and it was then that he knew it was truly over. Snape was gone, and he wouldn't be coming back. He should be whooping for joy.

But instead, he just felt cold and hopeless. He drew his knees tighter against his chest and closed his eyes, trying not to feel crushed by the sudden silence of the apartment. Just moments before there had at least been Snape out in the sitting room, pacing, rustling things, making small sounds.

In his absence, the stillness was deafening. And everything was wrong. Snape was gone, and his mother was hurting, reeling from two betrayals of her trust. And here he sat, alone in his room, sequestered like a misbehaving child, unable to do anything to make it right again.

But what could he possibly do? He couldn't leave it at this. He couldn't simply accept that his mother would divorce Snape and cut the man out of her life, and then go back to her long silences and poorly-concealed melancholy. There had to be a way to fix this, something he could do.

Because damn it, he had been the only one hurt by Snape's behavior. And it wasn't as if he were a baby, really. He could take it. Sure, the man had been unfair and annoying and downright nasty at times, but it wasn't as if the man had physically struck him or done any permanent damage. Not even to Harry's self-esteem, really, because he'd learned pretty quickly to ignore the potions master completely, and resort to the occasional eye roll or huff of annoyance to blow off steam when things got to be too much.

So if Harry could look past all that—and really, who was to say he wasn't stronger for having endured it?—why couldn't his mother do the same? Snape was cunning enough to whip up a really good apology. He could lay it on thick, humble himself in front of Lily, apologize to Harry, and things would be right as rain in no time.

And after that the man would be forced to be more discreet and tempered in exercising his prejudices. And that would make life so much easier for Harry.

If Harry could just convince his mother to see things that way.

The soft, tentative knock on his door startled him out of his contemplations.

"Mum?" Harry called hesitantly.

The door swung in, and Lily entered, arms wrapped around her chest, her eyes already red-rimmed and her cheeks streaked with tears. "Oh, Harry…."

Harry rose instinctively from the bed and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She hugged him back, her arms tight with desperation.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered brokenly into his hair. "I was such a fool—"

"I should have told you," Harry argued, shame coursing through him yet again. "But—"

"No, I never should have let that bastard near you. That childish, pathetic, sorry excuse—"

"Mum, really, it's all right," Harry protested. "Everything's fine. Just because he wasn't nice—"

"He purposely sabotaged you! And I'm sure he ridiculed you and humiliated you and did whatever he could to make you unhappy. I should have known that he could never see anything but James in you. Oh, I convinced myself that he'd matured, and that his bitterness toward James was just the old hurts festering, that it never meant anything. I saw what I wanted to see in him. I let myself be blinded, and you paid the price.

"I'm going to speak to Albus, and we'll see what _he_ has to say about this. Honestly, I've half a mind to pull you out of the man's class and tutor you myself! I cannot believe that he would so blatantly abuse his position… and to think that I ever believed he might be something more to you, if you just gave him a chance."

Harry swallowed thickly and pulled back from his mother slightly so that he could gaze up into her tear-filled eyes. He had to do this. He had to make her understand. "He's not perfect."

Lily scoffed derisively. "That's putting it lightly."

"No, Mum, hear me out." Harry drew in a deep breath, desperately trying to pull his words together. Could he do this? Could he make an impassioned defense for the man who'd tormented him mercilessly?

Well, he had to try. And he would try again and again if it came down to it.

"You told me that he had a rough childhood."

Lily's lips thinned as she regarded her son. "That is not an excuse. Your friend Neville had a rough childhood. _You_ have had a rough childhood. Yet you have not exhibited even an ounce of the petty vindictiveness—"

"Neville has his Gran, Mum. And I've had you. Did Snape have anyone like that? Because… because I get the impression that he didn't." And before his mum could interrupt, Harry hastily continued, "And that makes all the difference, see? You told me that he's so mean to protect himself. And you're all he's ever had, Mum, and he's scared to death of losing you."

Harry didn't know where these words were coming from. They just spilled past his lips, and he was grateful for that, because he had no idea how to make a case for someone he hated and would gladly send to the bottom of the Black Lake to live with the giant squid.

Though that wasn't entirely true. Because as he spoke, he felt the truth of the words, and he felt a strange sort of sympathy for the man he was defending.

"I… I get how he feels, I think, because I felt the same way when you first started seeing him. You're all I have left, you know. I mean, I've got Uncle Remus, sure, and my friends, and lots of other people who care about me, but you're my only close family. We've always had each other. And when Snape showed up, I thought… I thought it meant I was going to lose some of you, maybe all of you. I didn't want to share.

"And worse, I was worried that you'd be closer to him, because you got to choose him, but you were stuck with me—"

"Harry!" Lily exclaimed, horrified. "Don't ever think that! You're my _son_ ; I was not _stuck_ with you—"

"I know," Harry soothed her, burying himself against his mother and squeezing her tight again for a moment. It was stupid, he thought, but it felt so good to get that off his chest. "I know that. I know it's ridiculous to even think that… but that didn't matter, because it didn't change how I felt. And Snape probably felt the same way. But he really had a reason to think he might lose you, you know, because you ignored him for so long, and he's made bad choices, and he has no real claim on you. I do.

"I think that maybe, on some subconscious level, he thought that keeping you angry or disappointed with me would keep me from pulling you away from him. He doesn't have anyone he can take for granted, Mum. And yes, he was awful to me, and it wasn't right, but… but I don't think it was because he enjoyed hurting me."

Harry had to swallow hard then, in an effort to regain control of his voice. How long had he been thinking all this? Because he knew that he wasn't coming up with it on the fly. And he'd been too angry with Snape lately to even contemplate any kind of sympathy.

But everything he was saying now, it all felt so _right_. Because every time Snape scored a point, every time he made a cutting remark or sabotaged Harry in class or did any other awful thing, it didn't feel like the man was tormenting _Harry_ Potter. It felt like the man was trying to exorcise the ghost of James, young and reckless and inconsiderate, James who had been a vicious bully before the real casualties of the war had hit and he'd felt loss and grown the hell up.

And when it wasn't James' ghost that haunted Snape, it was the possibility of not being enough for Lily, who already had her famous son, who was the world to her.

"Harry," Lily murmured, her voice hoarse. She carded a delicate hand through her son's hair, the gesture greedy and desperate. "Harry, he _hurt_ you. And whatever his excuse, whether he enjoyed it or not—it's unforgivable. I don't know if I can forgive myself for letting him, let alone… let alone Severus…."

Harry forced himself to draw a deep breath. Part of him very much wanted to agree with his mother. Part of him never wanted to see Snape's face again, wanted to plead with his mother to make good on her threat to tutor him privately in potions….

But the larger part of him, the more noble part, knew that doing so would help no one. Not even Harry. Because whether he liked it or not, he couldn't completely hate anyone who cared so deeply about his mum. And Snape clearly did. He'd healed her of hurts that Harry was helpless to understand, and he'd propped her up during the days when the grief and guilt were the worst.

And a man who could do that for Lily had to have redeeming qualities, had to have some reason for his bitter hatefulness. And whether Harry truly understood those reasons or not, he felt that he did, and that was enough.

"I hope you can forgive him," Harry answered, fighting to keep his voice even. "That's what you've taught me, that everyone deserves forgiveness and second chances. That we're all human, and we all make mistakes. You told me you had to give Dad a second chance, right? That there was a time when he was someone you would have been ashamed to have been seen with?"

Lily drew back a little, her green eyes filled with defensiveness and shame. "I… Harry, he was fifteen, sixteen—"

"And he came from a loving home, right? And he had good friends and was well-liked and had plenty of money and was in Gryffindor, where everyone was against the Dark Arts and Voldemort." Harry's stomach tightened as he listed his dad's traits. It was hard, and he never really liked to bring the man up at all, especially not like this. He knew it hurt his mum awfully.

Still. Lily had thought it important enough that Harry remember his father as human—brave and compassionate, willing to give his life to save his wife and child, his love so powerful that it manifested as sacrificial blood magic. But he'd made mistakes, too, especially when he was young, Lily told him. He'd been a cruel and vicious bully for years, and it had taken him a while to grow up and leave all that behind him. And Merlin help Harry if he ever started to act like that.

Harry hadn't liked hearing all that, not at all. It had seemed disrespectful to the dead, for one, which he'd told his mother rather adamantly the first time she'd brought it up. But she'd insisted that it wasn't, that knowing that James had been less than perfect didn't diminish her love for him at all. Everyone made mistakes, she'd said, and would continue to make mistakes, because that was just the way things were. The only way forward was recognizing those mistakes and trying to make up for them, trying to do better. And that meant you had to give people a chance to make up for things and to do better.

And Harry had understood, with time, that it was better to know about his dad and all his faults than to think of the man as some inhuman saint who'd never done wrong. The man's memory felt closer somehow.

Still, it soured Harry's stomach to dredge all this up now in order to make an argument for the likes of Severus Snape. But it was a powerful argument, he knew, and likely one that would succeed at healing the relationship between his mother and the Potions Master.

"Dad should have known better sooner. You can't judge them the same at all. And… and he didn't hurt me, Mum, not really. Sticks and stones, right? That's what you always tell me."

"When children your age are throwing stupid names at you, not when an adult—your _professor_ —is verbally abusing you in front of other students—"

"It wasn't so bad," Harry told her firmly. "I never let it get to me. And I bet he had it much worse at my age. Didn't he?"

Lily sighed and shook her head slightly. "Maybe so, but…."

"He would do anything for you, Mum. He loves you. I never liked it really, but… but I could see that he meant it. That he would never hurt you—"

"Harry, he mistreated you. He knew—"

"We don't always do what's right, even when we want to. Sometimes… sometimes we hurt too much, and…." Harry shook his head to himself, struggling to find the right words. "I'm not trying to excuse him. I'm just saying… don't give up on him, not yet. Please."

Lily was silent for a long stretch. Harry thought he'd lost the argument, and laid his head against his mother's shoulder in defeat, trying to forcefully beat down all the conflicting emotions rising in his chest.

They stood like that for a while, locked together, leaning into each other. Harry forced his mind to focus on the physical—the warmth of his mother, the softness of her skin where he pressed his face against her, just at the crook of her neck. The sweet, familiar smell of her soap—lilac—that shrouded her, not cloying but faint, like a rich summer breeze. The feel of her chest rising and falling.

"Why, Harry?" Lily asked after what felt like ages. "After everything… I told you that you can't sacrifice yourself to protect me. I won't let that happen. I am the parent, you are the child, and your happiness and safety and education come before anything."

Harry reached for his mother's hands, squeezing them in the same way that she always squeezed his when he was in need of reassurance. "Because it's the right thing to do. And because holding a grudge and pushing him away… it'll just be painful and hard, and it will make everyone unhappy. And because I believe he can change."

Lily's thumbs automatically began to rub gentle, soothing circles in on the backs of Harry's hands. Harry felt his mother swallow once, twice. Then she spoke.

"I'll speak to him. Ask him what the _hell_ he thought he was doing…." She seemed to be speaking to herself more than to Harry. "Not now. Now I need time to… to think. To calm down."

Harry said nothing, feeling that there was nothing _to_ say. He'd gotten his mother to speak to the man again. Either Snape would prove that he could do better, or Harry had just bought the man enough rope to hang himself. It wasn't as if he could Floo over to the dungeons and coach the man on what he should say to make things right.

"I don't know how you can forgive him," Lily burst out suddenly, pulling back again to examine her son. She looked tired and careworn; her face seemed to be more lined than Harry ever remembered seeing it.

Harry looked away. "Forgiving him isn't the same as giving him a chance to earn forgiveness," he muttered, unable to keep a tinge of bitterness from his words.

Lily studied him for a moment longer. Then she nodded resolutely before leaning in and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'll write to him if you're sure about this. Because if you just say the word, I will make certain he never steps foot in our home again. I mean it. Forgiveness is all well and good, but _no one_ hurts my child."

"It's okay, Mum. Really. Besides, putting up with him being, well, that way, taught me a lot of self-control and all, right? So it's not entirely bad."

Lily hummed in response, the sound more disapproving than anything. "It taught you a lot about lying, too, didn't it?"

Shame washed over Harry. "I'm sorry I lied about stuff, but—"

"No, no 'but'. We'll discuss that later, though." At last Lily released her son, sighing as she did so. "Right now… I think I need a Headache Draught and a little lie-down. Do you need anything, Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'll make lunch in a little while." She smoothed a hand over Harry's brow, brushing his fringe back from his eyes. "Come get me if you need anything." She kissed his forehead again, and then left him.

Harry flopped back onto his bed, feeling more confused than ever. Especially about what his mum had said. She was right; how in Merlin's name could he forgive Snape? And where had all that tripe come from, anyway? It had seemed natural when it had started pouring out. He was pretty sure he believed it all on some level, that Snape had a pretty messed up life and couldn't be held up to the same standards as others. That, on principal, it was the noble and right thing to do, to give people chances to change and be better. There was some Muggle thing about turning the other cheek and such….

Not that his revelations about Snape had him feeling all warm and fuzzy about the man. It wasn't like he was about to start calling him "Severus" and acting all chummy. No, the most he could hope for now was a cessation of hostilities.

Because he didn't really think that Snape could be sorry, not for the right reasons. He'd be upset that he'd lost control of himself, maybe. That he'd been so blatant about his hatred, that he hadn't been able to hide it. He wasn't about to regret the hatred itself.

But that was fine. It wasn't like Harry was in the market for a father figure. If he was that desperate, he'd sooner take to Filch than Severus Snape. They'd have a frosty, cordial relationship, and that would be more than enough to keep the peace around Lily.

Now if Harry could somehow find a way to have faith that Snape could manage even that little bit—civility for his stepson, and only for his wife's sake.

Harry shook his head to himself. It seemed more likely for Malfoy to formally request Hermione's hand in marriage.

The thought of Hermione reminded him of his friend's offers to be on standby for owl post. And if ever there were a time to vent…. Harry dragged himself over to his desk, where he started what he knew would be a very long and likely rambling letter to Ron and Hermione.

 **A/N: Hello all! Thank you for your interest in this story. But to give credit where credit is due, I must admit that I was very inspired to write this story by MoonlitSunshine's WIP** ** _Fatherly Enmity_** **. After reading this and** ** _Never Say Remember_** **by Malora (lovely fic, AU with parallel worlds, lots of Sev/Lily/Harry, beautifully written, highly recommend), I was dying to write a fic with Lily in the picture, and Snape as a wicked stepfather archetype. So, I hope I am doing the characters justice. I am striving for balance-three very imperfect main characters, lovable for their strengths and flaws, struggling to carve out a family despite their circumstances. I will admit that later chapters will be focusing more heavily on the Harry/Severus dynamic.**

 **To answer a few questions:**

 **Yes, Sirius will be coming into play. I know it's not very clear what all is going on (originally this was going to be a one-shot with no explanations or development that would never leave my hard drive). So far, yes, Sirius was presumed to have betrayed the Potters and was carted off to Azkaban without trial. Lily and Remus, having suffered such a major upheaval, grieving for the loss of two friends, cut off all contact and refuse to receive any kind of correspondence. But, as in canon, Sirius has found his motive for breaking out-the picture of Pettigrew, in rat form, in the Prophet. I delayed the timeline for convenience's sake, but yes, Sirius will eventually be making an appearance.**

 **Remus is filling the DADA post. He and Harry have a uncle/nephew or godfather/godson dynamic, though Harry has been distancing himself because he has feared that Remus would pick up on Snape's treatment of him and run to Lily. Obviously, Harry knows about his lycanthropy already, since in my AU the very gifted and generous Lily would personally brew Remus' Wolfsbane for him.**

 **Someone asked about Harry's Cleansweep and the loads of galleon's he's sure to have. One, Harry never blows his money on anything extravagant in canon, even though he has full access to his vault. Two, Lily has financial control over the Potter vaults (and any other sources of money), and having grown up in a middle-class home, likely only modestly well-off and unaccustomed to opulence, I'm assuming that she would tend to spend money conservatively and err on the side of not spoiling her son (the exact opposite of her sister, in fact). So I'm comfortable with our young Harry having a standard broom model rather than something top-of-the-line (though there** ** _is_** **a Firebolt coming, of course...)**

 **For those of you wondering, yes, we have reached the turning point with Snape's (as one reviewer so eloquently phrased it) acting like a dick. The end goal of this fic is reaching some semblance of a "happy family", and we have finally and definitively pointed in that direction.**

 **To end this ridiculous essay, I'd just like to say thank you to everyone reading/following/favoriting and, especially, reviewing. Your comments do motivate me (read: guilt me) to write more, and churn out chapters faster, so please keep them coming. Cheers!**


	5. Chapter 5

Too much brandy. Severus could feel that with every throb of his temple. Far too much, and far too little water, and fool of him not to take a hangover cure, what had he been thinking….

And then the details began to swim back to him, along with physical awareness of things beyond the sharp hammering behind his eyes. He was on his couch, not in his bed. Fully clothed still, for he could feel the heaviness of his robes draped around him.

And it was over. Everything. He'd managed to dull the bone-deep pain the previous night, but now it all came rushing back, pinching his throat closed, seizing his lungs tight like a crushing fist. Ruined, ruined, ruined. What in the hell had he been thinking, tormenting Potter like that?

She would never speak to him again. Not _him,_ Severus, her friend, her lover, her… her husband. Perhaps to Professor Snape, or Potions Master Snape if she were really in a bind and in need of a delicate brew. Yes, she might eventually bring herself to address him in a professional capacity, and she certainly would be staring coolly at him in the Headmaster's office for their inevitable meeting the next week. But all the lines of contact that mattered had been cut—burned, even, to ash.

It was unfathomable, the way that Severus felt so very unanchored. As if the sun had imploded, leaving the entire solar system adrift in a cold dark vacuum. Unfathomable, the way the numbness played over the pain like roiling waves. Alternately, he seemed to feel all too much, and all too little.

He pried one eye open. Well. Nothing for it, he thought bitterly. It wouldn't do for Albus to pop by and find him in this state. Not that he gave a damn about shame, but the old codger's response—sympathy mixed with disapproval and disappointment—would likely be enough to drive him into a froth, possibly a homicidal rage. And he would not have the murder of Albus Dumbledore on his hands, not at a time like this.

So it was with a great deal of reluctance that Severus steeled himself and mustered up the energy to force himself up into a sitting position. He muttered the appropriate _accio_ , just barely managing to catch the Headache Draught that came flying at him from his bathroom. He tore the cork out with his teeth and downed the glass vial in one go, sighing in slight relief as the cool sensation poured through his temples, eliminating at least his physical pain.

He rubbed his eyes, wincing at the crustiness there. How long had he slept? When, precisely, had he reached his limits last night and slumped into unconsciousness? The charmed windows along the walls of his dungeon quarters were of no use; they were spelled to display pleasant landscapes during the daytime, not necessarily ones that corresponded to their location in Scotland.

Severus decided to steal a glance at his watch, though he knew almost immediately that it would be of no real use. Stupid wizarding contraption. _Time for a shower_ , indeed. He should have exchanged it for a reliable timepiece all those Christmases ago, Albus' feelings be damned.

He ran a hand through his hair, an instinctive gesture. Oily, he thought. Oilier than he preferred these days. Maybe that shower….

Oh, what was the point? The despair came crashing back over him, stealing the air from his lungs, leaving him scarcely able to draw breath. What was the point of anything? What did he have before him now, anyway? A lonely stretch of years, hundreds upon hundreds of days like this, dragging himself from his bed, or up from the couch, only to lose himself to the pain of knowing that everything he'd built with Lily, everything he'd hoped for, every dream he'd secreted away since childhood, was gone now.

And he was squarely to blame. Yes, he'd sabotaged himself yet again. The Dark Mark hadn't been enough of a terrible mistake, oh no, he had to go and drive every last bit of light out of his life with his own failings.

Severus buried his face in his hands. He couldn't do this. He couldn't go on knowing what he'd had. Had it been just yesterday that he'd woken up beside Lily, her body nestled against his? Yesterday only that he'd stolen a kiss before breakfast, tasted the honeyed Lady Earl Grey blend she preferred lingering on her lips?

And Potter. Why couldn't Severus have reached his resolution sooner? Why had he waited so long, allowed himself to get so carried away? If only he'd realized sooner how pointless it was to be so cruel and unapproachable. If only he'd appreciated the boy's efforts right away, if only he'd understood that Lily's son hadn't been trying to drive him off. Too late, though. Potter still hated him, would likely always hate him.

And even Potter couldn't soften Lily's heart, couldn't change her resolve. He'd seen it blazing in the depths of those stunning green eyes. She was as angry at herself as she was at Severus. Guilt and wrath, a potent combination. She would distrust Severus too deeply to ever allow him another chance to wound her, and even if that were not true, she would distrust herself and her own judgment too much to ever bring herself to give someone that chance. Likely even to a perfect stranger.

No, he'd seen to it that Lily would shut herself off so that she could not make so grievous an error again, so that her son could never be tormented or ridiculed by someone she held dear.

Ha. His memories were blurry, but Severus was certain he'd written the boy some kind of drunken, rambling apology the night before. One that would never see the light of day. Oh, but it would be amusing to see what he'd scrawled out in his maudlin brooding. He was certain the phrase _your fucking father_ made an appearance somewhere, along with a few more creative epithets for the late James.

Yes, burning that mess was at the top of the day's to-do list.

Severus gave his temples one final rub before forcing himself to his feet. Water, he decided, then he would brush his teeth. Then perhaps some plain toast, if he could stomach that, and a cup of weak tea. Hopefully he would be in some sort of shape to face his students on Monday. If not, well, the little cretins already knew not to cross him. Once he snapped hard enough to reduce one of them to tears, the rest would fall into line. That he knew from experience.

He glanced cursorily around his quarters, trying to assess whether or not he'd made a true mess the night before. He could only vaguely recall his state of mind, and he knew that it was not unthinkable for him to have smashed a few things. Hopefully nothing too valuable.

No, everything seemed to be relatively sorted. Good. At least he'd retained some semblance of control.

Then he spied it. The envelope lying on the ground before the hearth, as if it had been Flooed through. Tricky business, as the magical currents of the Floo normally destroyed anything as delicate as parchment. It would take a strong wizard or witch to cast the necessary charms….

His breath hitched as his brain finally made the leap. Yes, very few witches or wizards were capable of such Charm work. Fewer still who would have any reason to send him personal correspondence.

Lily. So this was it, then, the official unraveling of every last good thing in his life. Likely a frostily-worded, curt letter informing him of her intentions to start divorce proceedings, advice to engage the services of a solicitor, etc. Oh, how that swift decision cut him.

Because he'd been nursing deep within his subconscious the secret hope that this still might be salvaged. It would have been ugly and difficult, an uphill battle—much like his attempts to crawl back into her life ever since their grand falling-out after Hogwarts. But still, he'd thought that it could be done, even if it took years and years, as it had the last time. Even if he had to write her letters every week that he knew damned well she wouldn't read. Eventually, he'd thought, her forgiving nature would win out….

But for this letter to come so swiftly, this blank letter with no name on the envelope, no personal touch. She'd cut him from her life, and she'd done so thoroughly.

Severus ignored it. He couldn't bring himself to pick it up, not yet. So he bumbled about, conjuring himself some water, then shambling into the bathroom for a long shower. Afterwards he called an elf for his light breakfast and picked his way through it slowly, even though every bite tasted like ash against his tongue.

Finally he could stand it no longer. Straightening his spine, as if that could somehow prepare him for this blow, he made his way over to the hearth and scooped the envelope up. Heavy parchment, he thought. Yes, perfect for serious legal proceedings. He closed his eyes, but that only dredged up the image of Lily removing her rings and laying them down on the table, a scene that had been branded indelibly into his mind's eye.

Nothing for it, he told himself. And ignoring it would not make it go away. He would only come across as petulant or delusional if he delayed, or refused to respond.

He drew in a deep breath and carefully ran a finger along the edge of the flap, breaking the seal, then slipped the single folded piece of parchment out. Hands trembling, he unfolded the letter and began reading.

 _Severus,_

 _We need to talk. My flat, 4pm. Don't expect to stay for dinner._

No signature, and the words were so very curt. But she would see him again. Even if it was only to discuss the beginning of divorce proceedings, it was far better than he'd hoped for, because she could at least stomach his presence. There was a hope. Slim, so very slim, but a hope nonetheless.

Merlin, what was the time? Severus fumbled for his wand and cast a quick Tempus. Quarter 'til… no, that couldn't possibly be—had he really slept so long? Hell and damnation, Lily was expecting him in a matter of minutes and here he was, lounging about in a dressing gown.

He hurried to his dresser and began flipping through hangers. Teaching robes, dress robes…. No, best to wear something casual, but respectable. Something that would make his posture of contrition very obvious. Nothing that would afford him any kind of distance. He had to dress down, to deliberately place himself in a vulnerable position.

What was he going to say? He needed more time to plan this, to think things through and decide what might convince Lily that he was truly repentant. And he was, that was certain. Oh, he'd kiss Potter's feet if it would undo yesterday's ill-fated coincidences. He might still have to prostrate himself before the boy—metaphorically, at least—before all was said and done.

But he would do it.

How could he excuse himself? No, he corrected himself hastily as he drew a button-down dress shirt out. Charcoal grey. Yes, that would do. Something less austere than his usual colors. Dress slacks to match, a slightly darker grey to provide contrast.

No, he could not excuse himself. He would not. He'd been a weak man prior to this, but no longer. He would own up to his faults and vow to correct them. He would show her that he did genuinely regret the pain he'd caused her son.

Potter. He'd borne everything so stoically. And what had Severus done in response? He'd pushed, prodded, picked at the boy, pressed him almost to a breaking point. And to what end? To make Severus feel like the bigger man, nothing more. To reassure himself that Potter, James' spitting image or no, had no power over him. To keep the boy in disgrace so that he could not be a rival for Lily's affections. He'd deliberately and vindictively targeted a thirteen-year-old. Shameful, reprehensible behavior.

Worse still, Potter obviously loved his mother very much. Severus was certain now that he'd only kept silent so that his mother wouldn't worry, so that she could continue blissfully in her new relationship. Contrary to Severus' initial impressions, the boy was anything but selfish.

Potter's devotion to Lily was moving in a way. Now that he was not deliberately blinding himself to it, Severus felt—well, not affection for his stepson, but respect. Approval. Because how could he fault anyone for such commitment to Lily's happiness and wellbeing?

If Lily proved intractable—likely that she would, considering the magnitude of Severus' betrayal—perhaps he could make an ally of her son. And they were already allies, were they not? In every sense of the word, regardless of the nature of their personal relationship. Potter was too young to truly be a part of the coming war, but eventually he would join the ranks. He was, after all, marked by Fate herself, and Severus was set—body, mind, and soul—in his determination to bring down his former master at any cost. Surely their love for Lily could bind them together beyond that, their bond as fellow soldiers.

After all, Potter had told him just the previous morning that he approved of their union. Regardless of his personal feelings for Severus, the boy would surely be able to work with him. And with Potter insisting to his mother how changed Severus was….

Severus finished buttoning his cuffs. He'd best hurry, he knew, if he intended to make it on time. He paused before the vanity, summoned the brush, and ran it a few times through his still-damp hair.

He studied himself for a moment. He was not a man given to bouts of narcissism, and so had little practice evaluating his overall appearance like this. But now it seemed necessary. Lily would judge him with her eyes first, even if she didn't mean to, and he would not have that all-important first impression be unfavorable.

He looked… undone. There was no other word for it. His skin was sallower, carved more noticeably with lines, especially beneath his eyes. And his posture. Oh, normally he held himself stiff as a plank. Not his natural bearing—well, it had been for as long as he could remember. He'd developed that posture young, a subtle way to mask his lower-class upbringing. It had gone hand in hand with the process of expunging his working class accent and every last piece of atrocious slang from his vocabulary.

But he could see none of that confidence now, none of that haughtiness that he'd so carefully cultivated. His shoulders slumped, slack, his arms hung awkwardly at his sides…. He relied on a sense of superiority and self-assurance to maintain his bearing, neither of which he had now. He felt very much like a man sucked dry and left to shrivel in the sun.

Perhaps Lily would take pity on him.

Well, nothing for it, he decided. It was time to reap what he'd sown. He forced his leaden limbs to make the trudge over to the hearth. Time to beg for Lily's forgiveness.

And he still did not know what to say.

XXXXX

Harry leaned against the door, ear pressed to the slight crack. He hoped his mother wouldn't notice. Though he figured that he was fairly entitled to listen in on this, however private it might be.

It wasn't as if he could sit on his bed, reading a book, while this was taking place, now, was it? His heart was already hammering in his chest, his palms sweaty from the single fear darting restlessly through his every thought.

Snape had better not screw this up. Harry had worked too hard to buy him this last chance. And too much was riding on the man learning to act like a decent human being. If he blew this, if Lily opened her heart and mind one final time to hear him out only to have him disappoint her, it would devastate her. And Harry couldn't bear that thought.

Snape had come through the Floo just minutes ago, and he'd yet to speak a word. His mother had been silent too. The tension in the air was so thick, so choking, that even Harry felt as though he were suffocating.

It was Lily who broke the silence first. "You look like hell, Severus."

Harry fought the urge to crack the door open to get a good look himself.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me today." Merlin, the man's voice was hoarse.

"I didn't," Lily replied frigidly. "Fortunately for you, I was convinced otherwise."

A long pause. Then Snape spoke again, his words even softer than before. Harry had to strain to catch them all. "I can offer no excuses, only apologies and promises to do better by you."

Lily snorted in disbelief. "Only by me," she hissed. "When Harry—"

"Better by you both. Especially Harry."

Harry flinched as he always did whenever his given name came out of that mouth. At least this time it wasn't warped with contempt.

There was no immediate response to that, only the sound of footsteps—light, likely Lily's—pacing across the wooden floor.

"Why?" Lily whipped the question out forcefully, angrily. "Why did you… how could you? He's a child, Severus! Not perfect, I know, but he's a good boy."

"He is." Soft words again.

Harry scoffed to himself. Oh, Snape was laying it on thick, pulling out all the stops for this dramatic performance. The man was probably fighting down the bile now, having spoken such vile words about James' spawn. Well, at least the man knew how to act.

"I was weak. Caught up in past hurts and insecurities. I… I saw only what I wanted to see. I saw James, ready to turn you away from me again—"

" _You_ turned me away from you," Lily interjected coolly, not an ounce of pity in those words. "You, and your own actions and choices. I let you back into my life because you swore to me, up and down, that you'd changed. That you'd grown up. You told me you'd left your bitterness behind you. But how can that be, Severus? You deliberately taunted and ridiculed _my child_. Bad enough that it was any child, but you chose to inflict that enmity on my own boy, your own son by marriage. I cannot fathom…." Lily's voice grew rough, fading away with the strain of her last words.

"I was weak and cruel and vindictive. As I said, I have no excuses." Here Snape pretended to get a hitch in his voice, and paused before continuing. The man was masterful at this, Harry thought. Excellent dramatic timing. "I swore to be better for you, and I was not. You have every right to hate me, I know, every right to erase me from your life and your heart. I deserve it."

Harry hoped the man was on his knees. If he was going to churn out such pathetic lines, the least he could do was make himself equally pathetic.

"But I'm begging you, give me another chance."

Silence again as that plea rang out in the room. Harry rolled his eyes to himself. Snape was not making a very good case for himself. Not that there was one to be made, after all that had passed, but still….

"Why?" Lily snapped at last. "Why on earth should you get yet another chance?"

"Because I've learned. Because I… I won't hurt you. Not again."

Harry grimaced. Wrong choice, he thought. What a flimsy reason.

"You told me that last time. You swore to me that you would never betray me. I asked you then if you could love me, even though I had a son by James; I asked you what that child meant to you. And you looked me straight in the eye and told me that you would treat him as your own. And have you, Severus? Is this how you would treat your own flesh and blood?"

No answer. Not for a long time. Harry leaned even harder against the door, trying to slow the thudding of his heart. No, this could not be it. The man couldn't give up now. Harry hadn't suffered through the Potions Master's vitriol and general nastiness for so many years, only to have it come to this.

If he had to salvage this himself, if _he_ had to be the one to go in there and beg for his mother's clemency— _again_ —he would do his damnedest to make Snape's life after this a living hell in retaliation.

At last the man seemed to find words to answer Lily's stinging accusations. "Again, I offer no excuses. And you have no reason to… to take me back. What I've done, how I've acted… not only is it inexcusable, it is unforgivable. And I have known that, Lily, I swear that I have, even if I lacked the courage to act on those convictions, even if I lacked the integrity to change my behavior.

"I know I was lying to myself, justifying every petty act somehow. I told myself your son was a poor student, that my actions in class wouldn't matter, wouldn't affect his marks. I told myself that he disrespected me and resented me, and that everything I did was only to keep him in line and teach him that his actions and attitudes had consequences. I know I deluded myself. I've caused him great pain and suffering for no reason, and he has turned the other cheek at every opportunity. It pains me to admit that your son is… he is a great deal more mature than I."

 _Well_ , Harry thought, _I am_. But of course Snape was just stringing words together. Anything involving Harry was a crock of lies—pretty lies, but lies nonetheless. But at least these lies sounded good, at least they were persuasive and rang with what sounded like true conviction.

"And you tell me that you are sorry." Lily whispered the words, her tone dripping with skepticism. "But I ask you again, are you sorry that Harry has suffered? Or are you sorry that I learned of it, and that his suffering hurts me?"

"Both," Snape answered. "Though more so that Harry suffered than anything. I… I cannot imagine that he will ever forgive me."

 _Well, not when you're not sorry in the first place._

"He was the one who argued that I shouldn't give up on you."

Harry's stomach tightened painfully. Why did his mum have to say that? Why couldn't she leave him out of it? Harry didn't want Snape knowing how much he'd done to sway Lily. Hell, the man would probably only see a threat in that, the sheer influence that Harry held with his mother. Snape would read it as Harry flaunting that, perhaps preparing to blackmail his Professor or some other such ridiculous conclusion.

"That… does not surprise me."

 _Great_. _Snape's already plotting revenge_.

"He has been more than forbearing ever since… ever since we began seeing each other. He is miraculously self-sacrificing."

 _Code for 'a manipulative little brat who will get his'._

Lily hummed in response. "Even after everything you put him through, he still found it in himself to speak charitably of you. I want you to remember that, Severus. You complain about seeing James in him, and I know—better than most, maybe—that the man had his faults. But if you think Harry shares even a handful of them…."

Harry heard Lily pacing slightly.

"He doesn't," Snape replied softly. "I have been willfully blind, I know. And I vow to you that it won't go on a moment longer."

"Even if I tell you to get out now and never speak to me again?" Lily inquired coolly.

Harry's heart leapt into his chest, even as his hand tightened painfully around the doorknob. No, it wasn't fair. He'd fought for the man! He'd done everything he could to convince his mum, and she'd seemed… well, reluctant, but open enough to the idea. Hadn't she? So where was this coming from?

He was nearly ready to burst through the door, but he restrained himself. Jumping into the middle of things would only make this worse. Who knew how Snape might react? If he lost himself and started yelling at Harry, all was lost. No, best to let this blow over, and then he could make a second attempt with his mother once Snape had left.

Harry could practically hear Snape swallowing. "Then I will go. And I will still do everything, Lily, everything in my power, to make this right. I will go over every essay, let him redo every practical. And I will speak to him with the respect he deserves. But words are cheap, I know." The shuffle of footsteps over the wooden floor.

"Sev, wait."

"I'm not… Lily, I know you must need time and space. I'll give it to you, whatever you need. And in the meantime I'll prove to you that I mean what I say, every word. That this time my promise to be better isn't empty."

Good, Harry thought. Very good. That sounded sincere, and Snape wasn't pushing too much. This might work. And if Lily decided to take him up on his offer, and let him do his penance from afar while he proved his worthiness, well, Harry wouldn't mind a few Snape-free weeks. Especially if the man meant to behave himself while at Hogwarts.

"Sev." The man's name came out as an exasperated sigh. "Stop. I… I understand why you acted as you did. That doesn't mean," Lily continued more sharply, "that I in any way excuse or condone it. But"—here her voice softened once more—"I understand. And we all make mistakes, as someone has pointed out to me." A pregnant pause stretched between them. Harry pressed himself even harder against the door, painfully so, afraid that he might miss something. "It would be pretty awful of me to forgive certain now-deceased parties multiple times, for multiple things, and not do the same for you."

When Snape spoke, his voice was far from calm and composed, the furthest Harry had ever heard it. It was rough and shook pathetically, and Harry almost believed it was from genuine emotion. Almost.

But he knew that Severus Snape was not entirely human, so he dismissed that notion immediately.

"Lily, I—I would not ask that of you. I would not expect… after everything I've done…." The man's voice died off a little. "I know that I have no right to ask you for that mercy. You both deserve better. Let me—let me prove that deserve that consideration, and if I do, then grant me forgiveness, but—"

Lily cut off the man's well-rehearsed self-recriminations. "You will prove it to me. I know you will." Her voice was hard, but not as hard as it had been previously.

Harry breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She wasn't rejecting him. Good.

He should have been happier. But this victory tasted bitter on his tongue, even though he'd fought so hard for it. Because even if Snape reined himself in sufficiently, that utter loathing would still be there, simmering beneath the surface. He had sentenced himself to sharing his life—all of his private moments, his only living parent, the sanctuary that was their home—with someone who felt nothing for him but utter contempt. The man would likely still subtly—and perhaps unconsciously, Harry granted—exert a negative influence on Lily's opinion of him. And undoubtedly there would still be conflicts, large and small, and in the end Harry would be forced to cede to Snape and bite his tongue, because Merlin forbid the man to admit he was wrong to anyone but Lily.

Harry sighed and retreated from the door. He paced aimlessly in the crowded space of his room for a few moments before slumping down on the bed. He'd wanted this, he reminded himself. Fervently. And his wish had been granted, so now he would have to suffer through the repercussions.

XXXXX

Lily hadn't put the rings back on. It was the first thing Severus had looked for. He could not help it; his eyes strayed directly to that elegant left hand, sliding down over the knuckles and to that place where the ornate bands should have been. Bare. He tried not to let his heart sink too far.

He'd been a mess, he knew. There was no hiding his distress, no doctoring his misery so that she could not guess how destroyed he was. He hated the vulnerability of it, but he knew that there was nothing for it. Not only because he could not hope to offer a true apology while maintaining any shred of dignity, but because he was utterly incapable of pulling himself together.

It had been a trial, getting through that conversation. He felt so inadequate, so utterly at a loss for anything he could offer her. When she had asked if he was sorry for hurting Harry, he had nearly offered to fetch the butchered mess of a letter he'd tried to compose the night before. Certainly it was proof that he was an utter ass in more ways than one, but at least it would have been tangible evidence that he had thought about the boy, that he was not merely considering treating Harry better to placate Lily.

Thankfully his common sense had stopped him from blurting out that asinine offer. There was only one proof that would matter to Lily, he knew. He'd worked that out at some point during his drunken stupor the day prior. Actions—tangible, concrete actions—would be his only apology. He'd hoped to lay the groundwork with Lily, to get her to deliver an ultimatum before throwing him out today after their chat. To stop her from signing the divorce papers outright, at least. That was all he dared aspire to.

And then… then she'd said that she was not giving up on him. That _Harry_ , blessed boy, had convinced her not to. How, Severus did not know, because he'd been certain that he'd cast himself far beyond any hope of redemption. But the boy had worked a miracle for him. And that had been enough, he'd thought. Even if Lily sent him away now, even if she said that she couldn't bear to see him for a week, or a month, it would have been fine, because she'd said that she _hadn't given up on him_ , and that meant that there was still hope.

He'd expected to be dismissed then. But no, that was not all. Because Lily had told him that she _understood_. Whether that was true or not was irrelevant, because it was—what? A modicum of sympathy, when he deserved none? Kind words when he'd expected never to hear any from her lips again? He'd been hard-pressed not to start weeping at her feet then.

And then she'd gone further. Implied that she'd forgiven him. Even… even as much as acknowledged that she'd forgiven James certain faults and behaviors. She'd offered him forgiveness and implied that her deceased husband was not perfect in the same breath.

Severus could not help but briefly wonder if he'd never actually emerged from his drunken state, because this—all of this—seemed to be too perfect, too… too easy. Still, the world around him remained too sharp for him to believe that he'd fallen into a beautiful delusion.

So Potter had worked a miracle with his mother for Severus' sake. After everything, he thought, after the torment and humiliation, the boy had still chosen to pull him back from the brink. And that thought alone was enough to set the guilt boiling within him.

He would make it right with Potter—with Harry. No more excuses, no more half-hearted convictions. He would do everything in his power to erase all the damage he'd done and then some. Even if it took him years, he would one day have a relationship of mutual respect with the boy.

He'd vowed to prove himself to Lily. And her clear, brilliant green eyes had stared back at him in challenge.

Severus swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly gone dry. "I—I'd like to apologize to Harry. And then… I should take my leave, yes?" Merlin, he felt so weak and uncertain. One harsh word from her now would shatter him.

"I think that would be best." Lily spoke neutrally.

Severus dipped his head once in acknowledgment. Yes, she'd told him that she did not want him to stay. As well as things had gone, he knew that it would take time before things returned to normal. If they ever did.

"Severus." Lily reached into the folds of her robe and drew out a thin vial. Silver strands stretched and undulated within. A memory. She offered it out to him.

He took it clumsily, trying desperately to hide the trembling of his hand. "This is…?"

"My memory of what Harry said to me. About you. I think you should view it so that you understand… so that you can see for yourself how compassionate he can be." Lily cast her eyes aside. "I want you to get along for your own sake, Severus. Not for mine."

Severus clutched the vial tightly, feeling the smooth, cool glass as it pressed into his palm. He nodded once, jerkily. What Harry had said about him…. He shuddered to think what the boy might have unleashed.

No. He'd convinced Lily to give Severus another chance. There had to be at least some kind of… of absolution. Some degree of sympathy from him. Anything less and he would not be standing here now. No, he would be drowning in his drink again, more than likely, having convinced himself in his misery that the only cure for such a terrible hangover was hair of the dog.

In some remote corner of his mind, he noted that not so long ago he would have been irked by this, knowing that this memory could only reveal Potter's presumed "understanding" of his misanthropic Potions professor. Severus would have written it off as hubris of the worst kind, that of a thirteen-year-old boy presuming to understand the darkness and pain in his stepfather's soul. He would have scoffed at the mere thought of any kind of sympathy from Potter.

Now, there was a strange sort of relief mixed in with the dread that crept through him. Dread, because he knew that Harry had every right to judge him, and he was afraid of that judgment. Merlin, he craved the boy's respect now. Not grudgingly given, not the respect of honorifics ground out on the pain of point loss. No, he craved the boy's genuine regard. And here, in the palm of his hand, he had the truth—what Potter truly thought of him, spoken to his mother in the privacy of their own home.

But relief was there too, an undercurrent, because he _knew_ there had to be some argument for forgiveness in that slender vial. And that meant more to him than he ever thought could be possible. Because, he realized, he needed the boy's forgiveness as well as Lily's. Not hers would not truly come before her son's, but because, in all simplicity, he _wanted_ Harry's forgiveness.

Perhaps Albus had slipped something into that brandy. Because it seemed to Severus that imbibing it had transformed him in ways he was still trying to understand.

Maybe it was not so much the brandy as having genuinely hit rock-bottom. Well, hit it again.

"Severus?"

Severus glanced up, startled out of the chaotic vortex his thoughts had become by Lily's gentle question. She was expecting some sort of response. Of course.

"I will view it carefully," he replied quietly. "I…." He was at an utter loss for what to say. But he bumbled forward anyway. "Did you still wish to set up a meeting with me? As—as Harry's professor? I thought—to save you an owl, perhaps—"

"Friday," Lily replied smoothly, not missing a beat. "In the early evening, I should think. If that is agreeable?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, that will be… yes. I will make note of it. I usually hold office hours after four, when my last class finishes. Any time after that will be fine. Dinner is at six—though I am certain you remember—"

"Severus. You're babbling."

Severus felt a fierce blush scorch his cheeks. He was. Idiot, he scolded himself. "I… apologize." His voice came out faint and strangled. Certainly she thought he was a complete fool. He couldn't even bear to meet her eyes.

"I believe I once told you that I found it charming," Lily murmured, her voice a touch warmer than before. "That hasn't changed."

Those words made Severus' gut twist, albeit more pleasantly than before. He longed to take her hand and squeeze it, just to feel it tighten around his in response, in reassurance. He couldn't, of course; he knew that. Lily would not welcome his touch just yet. But eventually, maybe….

"Friday, then," Lily declared, her voice gaining back its professional tone. "And… perhaps, if all is well, I might join you and Harry for dinner in the Great Hall."

Severus' heart stuttered in his chest. It was not an invitation to an intimate dinner here in the flat, but considering that Lily was considering voluntarily sharing his company at all, he was not about to complain. It was nothing short of a miracle—yes, that was how he would refer to this series of events in his mind, for it was the only appropriate term—that she was the one suggesting such a thing. A miracle that he was not begging her for such a dinner—or much less, even—on bended knee.

"That would be… I would…. I mean, I should like that very much, if—if you—"

"Babbling, Severus," Lily chided lightly. A ghost of playfulness animated those words, though it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Go speak to Harry, if you will. He still has to pack and return to the Tower sometime this evening."

Severus nodded. "I will try to be succinct."

"I suspect you'll have more to say to him after you view that." Lily dipped her head at the vial still clutched in Severus' hand.

"Yes," Severus murmured. He slipped the vial into a pocket.

And now… he turned himself toward the boy's room. The veritable lion's den.

 _I have faced down the Dark Lord_ , Severus mused, _and an angry Albus Dumbledore, and still the thought of confronting a volatile teenage boy has me quaking in my boots_. He longed for a fortifying snifter of brandy, but knew that this was a conversation that needed to be had sober, painful though it would be.

Well. Nothing for it. Severus squared his shoulders, made his way to the light oak door, and rapped three times.

"Mum?" came the muffled inquiry from within.

Severus cleared his throat. He turned to steal a glance at Lily, hoping for some kind of encouragement, but she'd slipped off.

At least she trusted him alone with her son. That was almost unbelievable, actually. What on earth had Potter said to her?

"No," he responded softly.

The scuffle of footsteps from within, and then the door cracked slightly, revealing a scowling Potter. The boy's nose was wrinkled with disgust. "You. What do you want?"

Once again, Severus found himself at an utter loss for words.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the long delay! This story is not abandoned (nor are my others, I swear to Merlin!). Yes, I know, we've all encountered the half-complete work with author's notes swearing up and down that it would be finished, only to find ourselves hanging and frustrated. I have absolutely NO intention of inflicting that on anyone. I will note, however, that I've been splitting my time between fics (I work best this way, unfortunately) and for the most part have been trying to concentrate on pleasing the most people. Snape's Promise, my other fic, has more followers, so I've been striving to churn out content for that. But I haven't forgotten about this little project, I swear! So I beg for your patience and understanding. I'd rather wait a while and churn out a good chapter for you than update like clockwork with sub-par fluff.**

 **As always, thank you for your reviews. They are wonderful and deeply appreciated. It makes my heart happy to see that my scribbles are enjoyable. And thank you for the follows and favorites as well. Cheers, and à la prochaine!**

 **To Acrylamide: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! I know Harry comes across as super mature, but my reasoning is that Lily's depression left him in the position of caretaker when he was very young for a short time (more on that later!), and that has caused him to grow up super fast. Also, he's shouldering the legacy of his father, who died a hero protecting him and his mother. I think that, on some level, he emulates James' extreme self-sacrifice, and that is why he is so willing to put up with Severus' general awfulness.**

 **As for your question on nature vs. nurture and inherent goodness... well, that's a lot to unpack. But I'll try to be brief. I believe that moral goodness is a construct that only has meaning in the context of society, so it cannot be innate. I question, even, the notion that pure "goodness" can exist. Altruism, for example, can be construed as self-serving, in that being seen to be self-sacrificing and generous can engender greater social acceptance and praise. Thus the altruistic individual is merely enacting a trade-off, personal pain and suffering for acceptance, approval, a sense of righteousness, etc. Applied in the context of this story, Harry isn't simply "doing the right thing" when he keeps quiet about Severus. He is choosing to protect his mother so that she stays happy, which in turn ensures that he doesn't suffer because of her depression/despondency. Or, if we want to take a more optimistic view of things, Harry cares about his mother and chooses to suffer rather than to see her suffer without hoping to gain anything from this trade-off. So, in short, I fall more on the nurture side of the debate (though I do still believe that we have an innate nature that shapes us). We're social creatures; we crave acceptance and approval, and thus our actions and thinking are shaped and influenced by our need to belong. Harry accepts suffering for the sake of others because he's had this example-that of his father-held up to him, and he's heard others be praised for it. He believes it is "good" and "right" (though I maintain there is no absolute "good", only that which is constructed by society).**

 **Whew. Sorry for another mini-essay.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

What did he want? It was a good question, Severus thought, as he did his best to meet Potter's defiant glare.

Forgiveness, but judging by the anger simmering in those green eyes, he was not about to be getting that anytime soon. Another chance to prove himself capable of decency. A Time-Turner, perhaps, so that he could stop Lily from finding out about his behavior from Longbottom, and rather simply come clean himself.

He opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it when he realized that he had very little to say.

Another thing he desperately wanted—to know what to say just then.

Well, best to be blunt, he thought. "I came to apologize to you."

Potter very nearly rolled his eyes. But when he spoke, his voice was filled with a cautious hope. "You did?"

"Yes." Severus was heartened by that small note in the boy's voice. Maybe this would not be nearly as impossible as he'd feared.

The boy's eyes flickered to the door. He nodded at it pointedly, indicating, Severus was certain, that he wished for this moment to be private. Severus stepped further in, pulling the door shut behind him.

And then Potter turned away from him, flopping onto his back to stare at the ceiling, as if he actually did _not_ want to hear what Severus had to say. Severus had to fight down the urge to snap at the boy.

Severus cleared his throat lightly, trying to gather his thoughts. He'd behaved very badly, he reminded himself. Potter—Harry—had every right to sulk and glare and even to insult him. "Harry, I—"

"Mum can't hear you," the boy cut him off sullenly.

Severus flinched. Hadn't the boy pleaded his case to Lily? Hadn't he argued that Severus should be given a second—well, third, really—chance? So why was he acting now as if Severus couldn't possibly want to express genuine remorse? "I am not here for your mother's sake—"

Potter had the audacity to bark out a laugh at that. "Don't bother. I'll still act as if you apologized and made nice with me, all right? You don't need to stand here and lie through your teeth to me."

"I scarcely think deceiving your mother further is in anyone's best interest."

That certainly got a reaction out of the boy. He whipped around to glare at Severus, eyes blazing. "I lied to keep you from hurting her," he hissed, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "You lied to protect yourself, because you're selfish and arrogant and blind. And in spite of all that, she needs you, and she needs to believe that you can be good to me. And you can't be. I know you can't be. You hated my father, and you hate me, and that will never change. But Mum doesn't need to know that, because it doesn't matter to me. You don't matter to me. So save your 'apology' and your breath, because as long as you can be civil to me I won't ever complain. You don't have to worry about that." And then the boy slumped back down violently and turned so that his back was to Severus.

The words hit Severus like a punch to the gut. And wasn't that odd? he reflected through the pain of it. How long had he told himself that he cared nothing for the Potter brat, that he was arrogant and disrespectful and useless? That the boy's hatred meant nothing, that he should wear it like a badge of honor, even? But those words…. _You don't matter to me_. It stung nearly as badly as Lily's anger and rejection.

"I have behaved inexcusably," Severus tried, his throat closing again. It was hard to get the words out. "And I do mean that—"

"No you don't. And I already told you that I don't care. So don't think you have to put together some pretty speech for me, all right? You just keep to yourself and I'll keep to myself."

"Harry, I truly am sorry—"

"Fine," Harry spat angrily. "You want to do this? Well, Snape, I'm _so_ glad you apologized. Thank you _so_ much. You're forgiven. Everything's good. Happy now?"

The words were like acid flung in his face. Why wouldn't the boy just listen to him? Or—or even believe that he _might_ be sorry? Why not just tell Severus that he was too hurt still to forgive him, that he would have to do more penance? Why didn't Harry say that he needed more evidence that Severus was truly remorseful? Hadn't the boy fought for him? Hadn't he braved his mother's anger because he believed Severus could do better, that he was capable of redeeming himself? Was the proof of that not resting in his pocket at that very moment?

But no, Harry spoke as if it wasn't even remotely a possibility, as if Severus would only ever utter an apology to manipulate him or his mother….

Lily. Perhaps it was time to take a different tack with this. "I made a promise to your mother when she accepted my proposal. I swore I would love you as a son—"

No. Definitely not the right strategy. Those words seemed to undo the boy.

Harry was on his feet so fast that it was a wonder to Severus that he didn't lurch forward. "Don't you ever— _ever_ —call me that. You're not my father, and you never will be—and you have no right to even try to be, after what you've put me through. I don't care what you promised Mum. I don't care if you've decided you want to be stepfather of the year now to get back into her good graces. You stay the hell away from me, as much as you possibly can, and I'll return the favor."

Severus' mind was working overtime, trying to find a way to salvage this. He hadn't meant to delve anywhere near to that sticky, uncomfortable topic. He'd only meant to—what? To try to argue with points Harry had already conceded. That Severus loved Lily more than life itself, that he would do all he could to make her happy. And from there, to present the argument that a genuine, amicable relationship with her son was clearly a desirable goal, because his happiness would be her happiness.

But no, Harry had immediately honed in on that single word— _son._ Yes, Snape knew that he never would be anything akin to a father to the boy, and if he was honest with himself, he didn't particularly want to step into that role. The boy had other male role models, deplorable as they were. Lupin would suffice, though.

Even so, it was what he had promised Lily. To look after the boy as he would his own. To offer protection and guidance, if nothing else. And Harry didn't seem capable of believing that Severus would want even that much for him. No, he was convinced that even now Severus was only intent on making amends with Harry in order to placate Lily. To crawl back into her good graces, as the boy had said.

One more time. He would try one more time to get somewhere with this apology. "I know that you do not believe it," he began carefully, "but I genuinely regret how I have treated you. It had nothing to do with you, Harry, you must understand. Your father and I did not get along during our school years—he was cruel—"

The boy's eyes hardened. "He was a bully," Harry agreed quietly, voice like steel. "He was terrible to you and arrogant and full of himself, and I would be ashamed to ever act like he did during his school years. I know. But he grew up and became a better person. He _died_ to protect us! He gave everything he had just to keep us safe! He loved us so much that his death called up ancient blood magic! Magic that's still protecting us! So don't you _ever_ bring my father up as an excuse! You don't have any right to even _talk_ about him!"

The boy's fists were clenched hard at his sides, and he was trembling, as if he were fighting the urge to launch himself at Snape. But he closed his eyes suddenly, and gradually his hands relaxed.

"Get out."

Again, Snape had to fight the urge to snap at the boy for his lack of respect. It was ingrained, and he knew that he was going to have to do some serious tempering of these automatic reactions. After all, the boy had only heard Snape foisting blame onto James Potter, not the explanation that was to follow about childhood trauma and displaced resentment.

"I did not mean to insult his memory. I only meant to say that I have allowed myself—"

"Get _out_! I don't want to hear any of it, all right? I'm not stupid. You're not going to win me over or lull me into believing a word, so just—just get out, before Mum sees me upset and changes her mind about you."

Severus fought the urge to flinch at that very real possibility. His truce with Lily was fragile at best. And if Potter breathed even one word of complaint to her….

But no. That was not what this was about. This was about the boy. About righting wrongs. And what had he done so far? Offered trite words and excuses. Nothing that would persuade his stepson that his change of heart was genuine.

There was nothing he could say that would prove that. So instead he murmured, "I will do better. I swear it to you." And he withdrew then, knowing that the boy would just throw those words back in his face, would only mock them as insincere.

He made his way to the floo, all traces of euphoria gone from his system. Yes, he was thrilled that Lily was not washing her hands of him, but that moment of light and joy was gone, and he was left in a heavy state of sobriety to face down all the work he had before him.

XXXXX

"Are you going to actually eat your food?" Hermione demanded primly. "Or just mangle it?"

Harry stared down at the mutilated remains of his porkchop. He could feel Snape's eyes on him still; the man had been staring at him for the entirety of that evening's meal, and it was seriously starting to grate on his nerves. "Maybe I'd have more of an appetite if he would stop _staring_."

"Want me to stare back?" Ron offered through a mouthful of potatoes.

Harry snorted. "So he can take points, and all of Gryffindor can hate us? No thanks."

"We'll just tell the creep we thought he was trying to get our attention."

"More points from Gryffindor for lying or disrespect or something," Harry muttered. "It's not worth it."

"You said he apologized," Hermione cut in.

"I said he _pretended_ to apologize. Now he's probably just calculating how far he can push things. Or when he can start pushing things again." Harry shoved his meal away. "I'm going out to the pitch." He stood up, slinging his school bag over his shoulder.

"You hardly ate anything!" Hermione protested.

"And practice doesn't start for another two hours," Ron added. "Come on, Harry, don't let the bastard win. Don't let him affect you like this."

Harry slumped back down in his seat. He didn't move to reach his plate though. "Well, he does. And he will, because he's always going to be there."

"What do you mean?" Hermione questioned gently, laying a hand on Harry's arm.

"This was my first weekend home with him. Well, with him and Mum. Before the wedding, during the summer… well, I was at the Burrow so much, you know. He'd stay the weekend, I'd be there during the week. I was trying to avoid him."

Hermione nodded in understanding. Subtly, she used her left hand to drag Harry's plate back toward him. At the same time, Ron maneuvered Harry's fork so that it touched his fingers.

"I just didn't realize that he's always going to be there. For dinners, and when Mum tells me goodnight, and when she gets on me for keeping my room too messy."

"Just tell your mum that you want him to take a hike!" Ron burst out. "You said that she was ready to kick him out!"

Harry started to push his plate away again, but Ron's hand caught the edge, preventing it from going further than a few inches. "Look, it's not that simple. I already told you that she needs him there."

"She has you, though," Ron argued. "She doesn't really need that greasy snake in her life—"

"She _does_ ," Harry snapped, seizing the fork that Hermione was sliding insistently beneath his fingers. "He's something to her that I can't be. I hate it, and I wish it wasn't true, but it is. Everything has been really hard on her, especially after—well, it wasn't just Dad that she lost, you know? Aunt Alice and Uncle Frank—Neville's parents. Black betrayed her and Dad, and that hurt more than anything. And then he killed Peter—I don't think she liked him as much, but it still got her. I tried to—to—I don't know. Make her feel better. But I wasn't enough—"

"Harry, that's not true," Hermione murmured, squeezing his arm tightly. "You were too young when it all happened, and now… it's not because you're not enough."

Harry sighed. "I don't want to talk about it anymore." Reluctantly, Harry speared a stray piece of porkchop. "Ron, you said you had big news?"

Ron's face remained crumpled with concern for a moment before finally clearing. "Yeah! Dad won a drawing at work, so he's getting this big bonus, and he and Mum decided they're going to use it to take us all to Egypt this Christmas! You know, to see Bill!"

"Ron, that's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "There's so much history and culture there, not to mention the possibility of studying ancient magics. We've just started a unit on the use of Egyptian hieroglyphics in place-related hexes and curses—which is incidentally tied into the Muggle mythology of Egyptian tombs being booby-trapped…."

It was a relief to be able to listen to Hermione prattle on about the tomb of King Tut and ancient Egyptian wizards. He was almost able to forget about Snape's eyes on him. Almost. At least the burning sense receded to something of a prickle.

XXXXX

Potions the next day was strange. Harry had been certain to time his arrival to the classroom just as precisely as he always did—three minutes before the class started. It ensured that there were at least a few other students in the classroom, but also that he would have adequate time to gather his ingredients and settle at his station without drawing Snape's ire for tardiness. He, Ron, and Hermione took their regular place far at the back-left corner of the classroom (not that attempting to stay as far from Snape as possible had ever really helped Harry).

Snape was already there, as usual, writing out instructions on the board. Harry glanced over to see what page Hermione had turned to, and copied her before turning to the list of ingredients needed for the Obfuscation Draught. The recipe was familiar; Harry had, as usual, taken care to study the assigned text, and done supplemental reading to ensure he was familiar with every aspect of the brewing procedure.

Not that it ever helped him much. But at least it usually kept things from turning into a true disaster.

Draco Malfoy strutted into the room, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. He caught Harry's eye immediately and smirked before leading his goons over to the empty bench beside Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Don't mind if I sit here, do you, Potter?" he inquired sweetly, his eyes promising trouble.

Ron was about to open his mouth, but Harry tugged on his robe sleeve and jerked his head up toward Snape's turned back. They'd never get away with turning precious Malfoy down, much less with the nasty retort Ron was undoubtedly planning.

"Suit yourself," Harry replied neutrally, turning back to his textbook. Turning to Hermione and Ron, he offered in a lower voice, "I'll get the supplies."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle trailed him over to the student supply cupboard. Harry did his best to ignore them, concentrating instead on the list of things he'd need to gather. Spider eggs, a squid's ink sac, doxy wings….

Harry felt his feet twist together suddenly, and he lurched forward, crashing into the supply cupboard. Several jars of ingredients rained down on his head and back, causing enough pain that he needed to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out.

"Gracious, Potter, you should watch where you're going," Malfoy commented snidely.

Harry didn't look at Malfoy at all. He knew that he was inches away from breaking and either hexing the blond or punching him right in the nose. Instead, he focused on gathering up the fallen ingredients before Snape noticed.

Too late. "Merlin's sake, Potter," the man hissed out. "Is anything broken?"

Harry continued to stare down at the flagstone floor as he righted the thankfully unshattered glass jars of ingredients. "No, sir, it's all intact," he mumbled.

"Don't be an imbecile," Snape drawled. "The glass is all charmed. As you're not whimpering, can I safely assume that you have not been gravely injured? Or shall I send you to the hospital wing?"

Harry felt an angry flush creeping over his skin. Of course the man had to humiliate him. Of course he'd fall right back into old habits, regardless of how things had blown up just that weekend. _I'll be better_. Hah. It was a good thing Harry had thick skin and really wasn't bothered much by the man's taunting.

"I'm fine, sir," he ground out, still not lifting his head.

"Good. You will see me directly after class to discuss proper safety precautions when around volatile—and _expensive_ —ingredients."

Harry drew a deep breath, willing the angry haze that was threatening to overtake him to recede. "Yes, sir."

Malfoy and a number of other Slytherins sniggered openly at him.

"Potter the Putz," Malfoy sneered quietly, loudly enough for most of the class to hear him.

"Better than Malfoy the Muff!" Seamus jeered from the Gryffindor side of the room.

" _Mr. Finnigan_." Snape's voice was not loud, but it trickled through the room like ice water. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for foul language, and if I _ever_ hear such filth in my classroom again, you will be tasting soap for the rest of the semester. Is that clear?"

Harry couldn't resist the urge to twist back toward his Gryffindor classmates. Seamus had turned beet red, but he turned toward Harry and some of the embarrassment ebbed away, replaced by steadfast resolution.

"Yes, Professor," Seamus responded, managing to sound not at all sorry without being too disrespectful.

Harry finished gathering his ingredients and scurried over to his seat as quickly as possible, still fighting back his residual anger. Whatever vows Snape had made to his mother, it likely didn't include him turning a blind eye to Harry at all times. The man would feel himself justified in whatever punishment he intended to dole out, since it had been Harry's "clumsiness", after all, that had caused the mess.

Ron was glaring conspicuously at the Potions Master when Harry returned to their workbench. Hermione's attention was on her textbook, but from the set of her face—nose scrunched, brow furrowed, as if she'd scented something particularly foul—it appeared that she was about as pleased as Ron at what had just unfolded.

"Tell your mum that you want shut of the git," Ron growled in a low voice. "Letting Malfoy hex you in class like that. Ought to be sacked."

"S'not worth it," Harry grumbled as he laid out his supplies.

Malfoy and his goons arrived at their workbench, Malfoy still grinning like the cat who'd eaten the canary. "All right, Potter? Good thing we don't need to worry about things hitting your head, seeing as you can't possibly be any more brain-damaged. Really, I can't believe you haven't been barred from this class yet. You're practically a health hazard."

Ron tensed, but Harry grabbed his friend's wrist. "He's not worth it either."

Ron cast a dirty look at Malfoy. "You're right," he said just a little too loudly. "Probably just go sniveling to _daddy_ anyway."

Malfoy snorted. "At least my father can respond to my complaints, Weasel. Yours is always too busy trying to find two knuts to rub together—"

A loud crash echoed from the front of the room. Snape stood at his podium, glaring out at the class over the large volume he'd just slammed down. "If we are _quite_ through with inane chatter," he hissed at the then-silent room.

It was odd. Harry could have sworn that the man's eyes actually lingered on Malfoy for once. Much good that it did, since the Slytherin seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that he might have irritated his Head of House.

Snape launched into the day's lecture then.

It wasn't until they'd actually started brewing that things took a turn for the truly bizarre.

As usually, Snape was making a show of sweeping around the room, peering down at cauldrons, barking out the occasional curt instruction to add more of this, to lower or raise the heat, to stir _clockwise_.

He arrived at the back of the room. But instead of heading straight for Harry to launch into a scathing diatribe, he lingered before Malfoy's desk.

"I find it interesting, Mr. Malfoy," he began in a low, smooth voice, "that you have dragon's bile laid out with your ingredients when today's assignment does not call for it. Surely a student of your caliber has not made such an elementary error?"

Harry tried to concentrate on extracting his squid ink as he listened to every word of this exchange.

"No, sir," Malfoy replied confidently, tone still supremely smug. "I merely thought to experiment a bit—"

"Intriguing." Snape drew out the syllables of the word to make it clear that it was not intended to be a compliment. "And what did you hypothesize might occur, should you add dragon's bile to this particular concoction?"

Malfoy seemed to falter a bit. "I'm not certain, sir."

"Oh, surely you have an idea. I have, after all, devoted a great deal of time this year to ingredient interaction. Tell me, how does dragon's bile usually react to doxy wings?"

The soft burble of simmering cauldrons was the only answer to that question. Quite suddenly, Harry was certain that nearly every student in that room was listening as intently as he was to this quiet conversation.

"Come now, Mr. Malfoy. You wrote a rather admirable essay on the topic not one week ago."

"Explosively, sir." The words came out as a mere whisper.

"Interesting, too, that you have chosen to forego your normal seat this class. But I am certain the two choices are unrelated."

Harry watched from the corner of his eye as Snape snatched the small vial—the topic of their discussion—from Malfoy's bench and pocketed it efficiently.

"You will drop by my office at seven this evening, Mr. Malfoy, to further discuss this _fascinating_ little experiment." And with that Snape turned on heel and glided over to the other side of the classroom, leaving Malfoy looking a great deal paler than usual.

Somehow, Harry doubted that Snape would be helping him to design an extra credit project that evening. The look on Malfoy's face alone spoke to that. But did Slytherins get into trouble? Didn't Snape play favorites? Didn't he always turn a blind eye to their misdeeds?

Well. There was no doubt that the dragon's bile was intended for Harry's cauldron. And if it would have reacted so explosively—which Harry knew it would, as he, too, had turned in an essay on that very topic—then it was a health hazard. And Snape wasn't going to win any points with Lily by allowing Harry to be seriously injured in his class.

As for the veiled threats he'd leveled at Malfoy—if they could be called that—they were likely merely a warning for him to be subtler in how he chose to torment Harry. Snape would likely chastise the boy for being so obvious that evening, then send him on his way with a pat on the head. Or whatever the Snape equivalent was.

The rest of the class passed relatively uneventfully. Malfoy, surprisingly enough, seemed to have been chastened by Snape's words, and concentrated solely on his cauldron, scarcely bothering to look up or even exchange words with Crabbe and Goyle.

For his part, Harry minded his own cauldron, and was infinitely grateful that Snape seemed to wish to avoid him. The Potions Master kept to other parts of the classroom, only venturing back to their corner to do a perfunctory check of their brews.

"Lower the heat, Weasley," he warned snappishly, "before it boils over. And perhaps _read_ your instructions rather than making haphazard guesses as to what to do next."

Ron had shot the man a nasty look as soon as his back turned.

"Well, he's right," Hermione had muttered quietly. "It says right there to reduce to a gentle simmer after adding the powdered obsidian."

At the end of the class, Harry considered just fleeing the classroom after turning in his bottled sample. After all, what was Snape going to do? Likely Harry could just hint at mentioning the day's events to his mother and the Potions Master would back right down. After all, he was the head of Slytherin; he had to have some sense of self-preservation. And it wasn't as if Harry actually had earned whatever punishment the man had cooked up for him over that long, abnormally silent class period.

But in the end Hary chose to stay behind, as instructed, knowing that more animosity between them was not what was needed. The more neutrally he felt, the less likely it was that he would slip up and show his resentment in front of his mum. And he had to hide that resentment perfectly, he knew, at least for a good month or so while things settled.

Hopefully Snape would eventually take a hint and start curbing his own behavior to make things easier.

Ron and Hermione lingered behind as they always did, Ron glaring and Hermione looking concerned. Harry waited in front of Snape's desk, jaw clenched and eyes on the flagstone floor before him as he tried his best to rein in his temper.

He jumped slightly when the Potions Master stormed out from the supply closet, wand already drawn. He glared darkly at the pair of loitering Gryffindors, who reluctantly retreated. A wave of his wand and the classroom door banged shut.

Then the Potions Master waved his wand twice more. Harry felt the familiar tingle of wards extending over the room.

Snape's harsh features smoothed then, though his black eyes remained shrewdly critical. "You're certain you were not injured earlier?"

Ah. So that was the game Snape wished to play. Concerned, doting stepfather. Harry barely kept himself from scoffing. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the corner of Snape's desk. "No, sir."

Snape sighed heavily. "I will straighten Malfoy out. Though in the meantime I would advise avoiding him in the halls."

"Yes, sir." Harry waited for the lecture to begin. Though, he reasoned, if Snape was playing the sympathetic Potions Professor today, maybe there would be no lecture. Maybe instead there would be saccharine assurances about his good intentions, and more promises to "do better". More sweet lies that he didn't need to waste on Harry.

"Harry."

Harry winced automatically at the sound of his name uttered from those lips. It made his skin crawl. But he knew he would get nowhere by expressing his disgust, or demanding that the man not call him that unless Lily was present.

So instead he inclined his gaze just slightly, enough to show that he was listening, if reluctantly.

"I wish to express, once again, how deeply I regret how I have treated you—"

"Don't you—" Harry caught himself before he could launch into a full tirade. "I told you I forgave you," he intoned dully, dropping his gaze back to the desk corner.

"You didn't mean it—"

"I meant it as much as you meant your apology. Sir." Harry tightened a hand on the strap of his bookbag, willing himself not to say any of the number of evil things that were floating about his mind just then. "May I be excused?"

Snape seemed to hesitate then. Likely because he was shocked that his fine little plan to manipulate Harry had not worked. "Yes. But…." The man stumbled. It was too odd to hear. Like seeing Dumbledore rolling his eyes, or Hagrid kicking a puppy. "If you should need anything, I am available. Just get a note to me discreetly and I will do all I can for you."

Harry wanted to snort. But he settled for replying in a passable imitation of Snape's own sarcasm, "I'm certain, sir." And with that he left, not liking the slight, niggling doubt that was already rising in his breast. The doubt that wondered if Snape was sincere, if he really _did_ feel badly that he'd treated Harry so cruelly.

Harry shoved that little doubt aside violently as he caught up to Ron and Hermione. There was one constant in this world, and that was that Severus Snape loathed Harry Potter. That loathing defied all reason, and would continue until the day that same Severus Snape was rotting in his grave. Maybe past that. Believing anything else was foolish, and Harry prided himself on being anything but a fool.

If Snape wanted to play the good stepfather now, fine. Harry would let him. But he wouldn't be disappointed when the man once again felt secure in Lily's affections and dropped the pretense. It wasn't like he wanted the man to like him. It was just as he'd told Snape: it didn't matter.

XXXXX

Severus glared hard at the Malfoy boy. He'd yet to say a word to the brat, apart from the barked "enter" needed to have the boy enter his office.

He knew very well that part of his ire this evening stemmed from self-remonstration. After all, his Slytherin had felt confident enough in his class to openly harass Potter— _Harry_ , he corrected himself forcefully. Confident enough, even, to purposely sabotage Harry's cauldron with an ingredient that would have caused a spectacular explosion and likely landed Granger and Weasley in the hospital wing right alongside his stepson.

Certainly Severus had paid no attention to the minor scuffles and taunting that passed between the two rivals (well, when it had been instigated by Malfoy, and when Potter did not respond). But had that laxity really given the blond Slytherin the impression that he could escalate things further—dangerously, and right under Severus' nose—without any consequences?

Even with blasted Gryffindors, Severus had always made it known that safety was of paramount importance, and that he would tolerate no tomfoolery under his watch. His students walked on eggshells to avoid his wrath, he knew; he'd doled out months of detention at a time for serious lapses in attention. In fact, he had two students that very evening who would be reporting to Filch for their third week of toilet scrubbing for having dared to engage in freewheeling experimentation. Nothing malicious, just incredibly foolish and dangerous.

And that begged the question of what had gone wrong that day. Was it the Malfoy scion? Was his arrogance and sense of entitlement so inflated that he felt the rules no longer applied to him? Certainly the boy took after his father. And he seemed to get a vicious sense of satisfaction out of bullying his peers, Potter above all. So perhaps it was the child who now sat, pale-faced, before him, awaiting the promised lecture.

Yet the boy did not lack cunning or subtlety, as he'd yet to hear complaints from other quarters. Certainly if this were due to the boy's inflated ego alone, Minerva would have already inundated him with reports of misconduct, not to mention scores of points deducted from Slytherin.

Oh, Malfoy bore the brunt of the blame, for certain, Severus decided, but he had enabled it. He had created an environment where the open persecution of one child by another had been the expected norm, where the persecutor had felt almost encouraged or supported in his pursuit of his target.

And wasn't that ironic? Severus mused to himself. Given his initial reasons for hating Potter, for being so very blind to the child…. Malfoy really was another James. Arrogant, self-assured, rich, popular, and well enamored of the sport of tormenting others for the sheer pleasure of it. Had Severus been less attentive that day, had he not recognized the dragon's bile by sight….

Well. The situation could have very well been life-threatening, depending on contributing factors. And then, not just for a single student, as a certain other prank had been.

Severus swallowed back his own guilt. _I will do better_. It had become his mantra, one he repeated to himself on a bi-hourly basis, if not more frequently. But there would be time enough later for wallowing in self-loathing.

Right now, he had a job to do.

"So kind of you to join me, Mr. Malfoy," he began softly, in his smoothest voice. "I know your evening must be very busy."

Malfoy squirmed in the visitor's seat, his pale grey eyes flashing in panic up to Severus, then back down to his lap. He knew very well what it meant when his head of house invited him to a private conference such as this. In fact, most of his Slytherins knew—or learned very quickly, either by experience or word of mouth.

"You—you wanted to discuss something, sir?" Malfoy's polished, aristocratic tones cracked just enough to ruin the façade of composure that the boy was trying to project. Beneath it all, he was a scared child who knew he'd done wrong, and knew he'd been caught.

"Why yes, I did. Your fascinating plans for experimentation, as you might recall. Dragon's bile in a base of doxy wings. One would almost think you _wished_ to get yourself sent to the hospital wing, with such a… potent… combination. Whatever inspired you to attempt such a thing? And in my classroom, nonetheless?'

The boy's earlier pastiness was nothing compared to the bloodless pallor his face had become upon hearing that question. "I was going to put it in Potter's cauldron, sir," he protested feebly, as if those words were any excuse.

Well. At least the little idiot was not trying to outright deny it. "Do you think, Mr. Malfoy, that my class is the venue to carry out your childish pranks?"

Malfoy shrank down. "No, sir."

Severus dropped his voice to an even more deadly whisper. "Do you imagine I appreciate your disrespect for my classroom and my person?"

Malfoy's head shot up at that, a little defiance showing through once more. "It wasn't—I didn't!"

"You could have endangered your classmates and yourself with this little stunt, had I not managed to stop you in time. Have you any idea what such an incident would do to my professional image?"

Severus hated having to argue this angle. It was true, and he would happily rail at the boy about nearly making his head of house out to be an incapable fool. But more than that, he wanted to rave at the child about the permanent damage that he could have caused to Harry—Lily's boy, another child, his _stepson_. Not all damage was cured with a wave of a wand, and if Malfoy had waited until the wrong—or right—moment, when the doxy base was at its most potent and undiluted, the results could have been catastrophic.

"Just Potter," Malfoy muttered sullenly. "You hate Potter—"

"What I _hate,_ Mr. Malfoy, is having a student of my own house endanger my public image and career. I would _hate_ a scathing story in the Prophet, complete with accompanying pictures of Aurors mopping bits of Potter from _my_ classroom floor." Severus leaned forward, so that he'd braced himself against the pockmarked wood of his office desk, so that his voluminous robes hung precariously over all carefully arranged clutter that covered its surface. "Have you _any_ idea of how little regard you've shown me this afternoon?" he hissed, glaring down at the Malfoy scion.

"S-sir," Malfoy stammered, eyes wide with genuine horror.

Interesting. So maybe the little cretin _did_ have a little genuine respect for Severus, something that went beyond his desire to flatter and manipulate as per his charming father's instructions.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Malfoy, it is so _very_ apparent how little you respect my time and talents. You think a Potions Master of my caliber has nothing better to do than oversee children attempting _boils cures_?" These last words Severus sneered, lips curling with disgust. "My, how very boring and useless you must find me as I try to impart my hard-earned knowledge. So boring that you must find other diversions. Explosions, media scandals… perhaps I should write a letter to your father, Draco, to let him know how unstimulating you find your current educational environment. I am certain that he would be willing to make other arrangements for you." Here, Severus dropped his voice to a low, silky whisper, letting it slide out like poisonous fumes. "After all, in Durmstrang your antics would be far less likely to embarrass the family name."

The boy was scarcely breathing. Good. So Severus had managed to get through to the little imp.

"Sir, I didn't mean—I just—you never cared before—"

"I have always cared, Mr. Malfoy," Severus replied coldly, easing back into his chair. He watched the boy carefully, noting the rapid, panicked glances around the office, as if he expected Severus to have already prepared the threatened letter. "You wish to waste time squabbling with Potter? Far be it from me to stop you. But this behavior? The utter lack of grace and cunning that you have displayed? The total disregard for public image? That is where I draw the line. I will not have you making a mockery of your name and status, not so long as you are my responsibility."

Malfoy flinched. "Please don't tell my father."

"I will not. This time, at least. But as you have proven to lack the brains to distinguish between well-aimed barbs and barbarism, you will henceforth steer clear of any and all escalations involving Potter and his ilk."

Malfoy's brow furrowed. "You can't mean—you expect me to just let that little prat strut about as if he owns the place? With _Weasel_ and that buck-toothed know-it-all Mudbl—"

"Language, Draco," Severus snapped. "Idiot boy. And yes, you are to steer clear of him, since you clearly are incapable of responding to provocation with calculated revenge. Your anger—or, in this case, your spite—run ahead of you, and one of these days I will not be there to nanny you. So you will remove yourself from temptation. And if you are incapable of that, I will happily ensure that you are removed through the assignation of numerous detentions."

"But you don't give detentions to—"

"Don't I?" Severus inquired dangerously, arching a brow in challenge.

Wisely, Malfoy did not complete his statement. Instead, he conceded petulantly, "Fine."

"Excellent. And now that that matter has been resolved…." Severus drew his wand and used it to levitate the hefty stack of parchment he'd prepared this evening. Fortunately, the punishment he had in mind was a common one doled out over the years, so all the requisite sheets were already prepared. "This, Mr. Malfoy, is a compendium of case files involving Potions Accidents, provided by St. Mungo's. You'll find that patient names and other sensitive information has been removed. However, the explicit details of each incident, and the treatment required, remain. You will copy each, by hand, and turn in your progress every week until every last patient file has been copied."

Malfoy's eyes were comically wide as he stared at the towering pile of parchment. "All—all of them?" At Severus' glare, he hastily tacked on a mumbled "sir".

"Yes, all of them. By hand. And do believe me when I say that I will know if you think to use magic or other means to cheat on this assignment."

"But that'll take ages—sir," Malfoy protested.

"Ages? Certainly not. Months, perhaps, if you work diligently. Hopefully no longer than that, as missing an entire term of Quidditch would be detrimental to your skills—"

"Missing—what's Quidditch got to do with it? You're already making me copy all this rubbish—"

"You will not participate in Quidditch until that has been completed." As Draco opened his mouth, likely to protest loudly, Severus purred, "Alternatively, I could write a letter to your father and allow him to decide how to deal with you…."

Malfoy's eyes went wide again, and frantically he began shaking his head in a silent plea.

"You may resume your place on the team once you have sufficiently proven to me that you will never again act so recklessly." Snape shook his head, preparing to rub salt into the wound. "Really, Draco, I expected better of the Malfoy heir. No concept of what is politic… perhaps the hat was mistaken."

The boy turned an intriguing shade of pink then. "I apologize, sir. It won't happen again."

"I should hope not. It occurs to me that this is only the latest in a long line of hare-brained stunts. One would think you would have learned by now." Snape slid the heavy folder forward. "You will turn in your weekly progress to me on Fridays, by no later than 7pm. I will inform Mr. Flint that you have taken a temporary leave from the team in order to better concentrate on your studies. You may tell your father the same if you do not wish for him to find out secondhand."

Malfoy hesitated before gathering up the rather unwieldy stack of parchment.

"I will not hear of any feuding with Potter," Severus stated quietly, giving the boy a meaningful look.

"I won't start anything—"

"No. I will _not_ hear of any feuding, full stop. I do not care what Potter says or does to you. You will stay out of it. I will not have you embarrassing my House or your father's name. Now, get out."

Severus watched as the boy scrambled out of the office, trying to fight back the sense of satisfaction he felt from putting the arrogant little twit in his place for once. He hoped the boy would never push him so far as to call his bluff; Severus knew he would never actually bring Lucius Malfoy's wrath down on his son.

Unfortunately, he knew that the control he held over the boy now as his feared Head of House would only dwindle over the years. Certainly the boy had always respected him for other reasons—because Severus was a distant family friend, because he was a decorated Potions Master. But that childlike awe was bound to only last for another year at most, and then the true nightmare would begin. And if the child inherited his parents' inflated egos, well, the coming years would be hellish indeed.

Now that the boy was finally gone, Severus allowed his troubled thoughts to return to Harry. The boy still believed that Severus was not in the least sorry, that he was only interested in offering empty words to smooth things over between them.

Well. He'd taken care of Malfoy, as promised. Though Potter would doubtless see that as an empty gesture meant to buy his trust. And it wasn't as if Severus could make his new position very clear by openly protecting Harry and ceasing all hostilities with Gryffindors. There was too much at stake with the possible return of the Dark Lord. Even chastising Malfoy as much as he had was risky, in that it might end up alienating him from the boy and, in turn, Lucius. Not that he didn't have perfectly valid—or Slytherin—motives for calling the boy on the carpet.

Severus leaned back in his desk chair, feeling the makings of a headache coming on. He knew that he was not quite recovered from his colossally stupid binge that Saturday, but more than that, he was finding his stomach tied in knots about Harry. More so than Lily, even, which was startling in some ways.

Oh, Lily still haunted his every waking moment. He would still seize up in moments of cold panic when he thought about the possibility of never winning her back, of failing her again and alienating her for good. He did not know how he could continue, should that ever come to pass.

But ever since he'd viewed the memory she'd given him of Harry, he'd found himself scrambling for ways to make everything up to the boy.

There had been no trace of James in the solemn child who'd pleaded with Lily, who'd talked of forgiveness and mistakes, who'd used his own father's shortcomings as a means of arguing for another chance for his hated, abusive stepfather.

For that was what he was. There was no denying it. Certainly Severus had never laid a hand on the boy—thankfully—but he'd cut the boy down and painted him as a miscreant at every opportunity. He'd accused Potter of trying to poison Lily against him when, in reality, he'd been poisoning a mother against her son. And yet there had been enough love and mercy in the boy's heart to set all that pain and suffering aside, to give Severus a path back into their lives.

And the boy wanted nothing to do with Severus. He refused to look at him in class, during meals. Harry had even turned around in a hall once that week and started off in the opposite direction upon seeing Severus.

It would take time, a great deal of time. And Severus prided himself on being a patient man. But now, he found himself anxious to the point of restlessness. He needed to be doing _something_ to atone. Sitting here idly and stewing in his own sense of failure and inadequacy was helping no one.

Well, there was at least one thing he could work on. Something he wished to have done by that Friday, something he would hand over to Lily as proof positive of his remorse. He summoned down the folder that he'd painstakingly assembled that Sunday evening—two years and a month's worth of Potions work. He was grateful for his own fastidiousness in keeping copies of all student work turned in.

He had other grading to do, he knew, but his students could wait. It was not as though his scathing comments would add anything to their pitiful little lives. Instead of looking over N.E.W.T. research proposals, he found himself carefully deciphering the chicken scratch of one Harry James Potter, First Year, and his thoughts on the seven most important ingredient preparation techniques in potion-making.

 **A/n: Thank you all for the lovely reviews and for your patience. Hopefully future chapters will come more quickly. I make no promises, but rest assured, this story, along with my other works, are not abandoned! They will eventually be completed. As always, your kind words are deeply appreciated, and inspire me to write more quickly. Cheers! ~mel**


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